


The Smallest Compliment

by oneinspats



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, Multi, Short Shorts, collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneinspats/pseuds/oneinspats
Summary: A collection of drabbles from Downey and Vetinari's time at the guild.Most are from asks over on Tumblr that I've answered. Feel free to request drabbles either in the comments here or over on tumblr.





	1. Hey! Dog-botherer

Vetinari, self-assured, one and twenty, believes he is possibly the best of his class in most things. Oh, but as a gentleman he would never admit it. He isn’t a braggart. He is quiet and self-possessed, always just-this-side of demonstrably self-confident. He believes there is nothing wrong with pride so long as it is well-regulated and deserved. He is, in no way, arrogant or a twit. Two words that would describe a _ certain  _ one of his graduate cohort.

How Downey made it into the graduate cohort Vetinari isn’t sure but he is convinced it must have involved a minor miracle. You can hire enough small gods to orchestrate minor miracles and Downey, Vetinari firmly believes, is the sort to resort to such tactics.

Vetinari has never needed to organize a minor miracle in his life. He would like to keep it that way.

Currently, he’s loitering in the rafters of the upper-years lab. A bright, airy room, he decided it’d be a good challenge to disappear into it. The large windows are west facing an added difficulty Vetinari is keen to surmount.

Slowly he lowers himself down onto a beam wide enough to support his weight and provide cover from those below. The room is mostly empty, only a few students lingering on their lab work. One of them, coincidentally, is Downey. The bane of Vetinari’s student existence is doing something complicated with mushroom spores. Vetinari watches for a moment, attempting to figure out what the other man is up to but gives up do to a lack of a clear line of sight. Downey’s broad shoulders obscure his notes and some of the glassware he’s working with. 

Vetinari slowly breaths out, works to level his heart rate and twists his head to afford the best view of the room.

No one appears to notice him as he is still. His challenge will be moving. Adjusting his head again he looks down and sees that Downey is gone. Or not quite, his satchel and books are still sprawled across the lab counter. Perhaps he went to the bathroom. Odd, that Vetinari missed his movements.

Something his the back of his head.

A pebble? A small piece of crumpled paper?

Something hits him again. He hears a snort and knows it’s Downey. Fuck. How did Downey see him? He’s absolutely sure his position, from those below, would be unnoticeable. This is his fourth run and no one has seen him thus far. Not even their stealth professor who happened into the room on one of Vetinari’s early trial-runs.

Maybe Downey doesn’t see him and he’s just chucking stuff up into the rafters for fun. The man is an enigma to Vetinari because Vetinari cannot imagine being entertained by dull things like dive-y pubs and messy flat parties. Downey appears to live for social events and being loud and rambunctious in Guild corridors. Oh, and annoying Vetinari whenever the chance arises.

A small projectile hits his hand. Another hits his leg.

He isn’t going to move. He refuses to give Downey the satisfaction. Something hits his leg again, this time a good deal harder. Vetinari silently curses Downey’s impeccable aim. The man even has impeccable aim half a bottle of brandy in. He knows because he’s had a boot chucked at his head by a deeply drunk Downey on more than one occasion. Usually preceded by Downey shouting, ‘Hey! Dog-botherer, fetch!’ Before keeling over in laughter.

Who decided Downey was a good idea?

A disturbed God, probably. One with a terrible sense of humour and a vendetta against Vetinari.

A pebble hits his arse. Below him and still out of sight, Downey lets out a quiet breath of laughter. Vetinari can see the young man’s dumb face in his mind’s eye with that stupid grin and his tendency to do finger-guns while going ‘eyyyy’ as he walks away backwards.

Vetinari could write a list about all the annoying things Downey does.

It’s deeply unfair that the most obnoxious person on the Disc is blessed with a handsome face and too much charm. Downey can turn the charm on when he wants to. Vetinari has witnessed it. Downey is impeccable in his ability to manage-up.

A pebble hits the back of his head again. He remains committed to not moving. To remaining absolutely still. To outlasting Downey because he will not give one William A. Downey, assassin, the gods-damn satisfaction of acknowledging him.

Downey hisses up, ‘Hey, DB. That can’t be comfortable.’

Vetinari ignores him.

Downey says, more loudly, ‘Nice outfit DB. Mud brown is really your colour.’

The remaining students begin looking over and Vetinari wants to drop down and pummel Downey for ruining his cover. But, again, he will not give the man the satisfaction of a response.

This is a tactic Vetinari has employed against bullies in the past and it has always worked with the great, life-long exception of Downey. He puts it down to Downey being too stupid to understand the subtleties of being utterly ignored.

He had complained to Ludo, the one person who can get Downey to do something Downey doesn’t want to do. He had asked eloquently, ‘what the fuck is Downey’s deal?’

And Ludo had replied, ‘Um you’ll have to be more specific. Will’s got a lot of deals.’

And Vetinari had explained, ‘His inability to back off. I’ve done everything you’re supposed to do to get bullies to leave you alone. He burned my book.’

Ludo had then said, ‘Oh yes, that night. And uh, Havelock, you know how boys pull girls’ hair?’

And he hadn’t known. So Ludo had just sighed at him and said, ‘Well I suspect it’s like that. But if you do anything with that information I’ll kill you.’

Vetinari hadn’t understood. Though he did believe Ludo would kill him, for whatever reason.

He still isn’t sure he understands. Why would anyone pull anyone’s hair? That seems unnecessary. And Downey had never pulled his hair. Just thrown things at him and called him Dog-botherer and Scag. Scag doesn’t count, though. Downey calls everyone a scag.

‘Hey, Dog-botherer,’ Downey’s voice is suddenly close. Vetinari refuses to move. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Shit. ‘You look nothing like a rafter by the way.’

Finally Vetinari sits up. There’s Downey sitting in the middle of the rafter smirking at him. He’s dusty, his usually pristine black marred grey and off-white. Vetinari glares.

‘I was testing a different camouflage.’

‘Well it sucks.’

‘No one else noticed, Downey. This is my fourth time and no one has seen me before.’

‘Or they did but didn’t say anything.’

Veitnari blinks at him. Downey’s smirk widens into a shit-eating grin. He needles Vetinari some more about how he actually has no idea how successful his attempt was since no one was monitoring him.

Vetinari can feel his cheeks burn. Downey tilts his head in considering of something. Vetinari snaps, ‘what?’ Downey sneers, leans over and flicks Vetinari’s forehead then scoots down from the rafters before Vetinari can retaliate. Vetianri shouts down at him, ‘Why are you like this Downey? Who made you this annoying?’

Downey gathers his books and satchel, he looks up Vetinari, they’re both so dusty, and says, ‘I was going to say you actually look kind of cool for once. Since you’re about as cool as a uh, very uncool thing. But whatever. Ciao, Dog-botherer. Better luck next time with your stupid camo exercise.’

Downey then gives him a rude gesture and walks out of the room.


	2. Satisfaction is a lowly thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> satisfaction is a lowly thing,  
> but how pure is joy?

It’s really a curse, Vetinari thinks. Being at the guild over Hogswatch break.

He had intended to visit Madam up in Genua for a month over Hogswatch but plans had not worked out in a timely enough manner and then Madam wrote him something about a Duke and a Frog and a Pumpkin and Vetinari had read the letter, decided he didn’t want to be involved, and said that he’ll visit over summer.

She did send him a rum soaked cake, though. And several new pairs of socks and some money to “buy something for yourself” with the customary advice “don’t spend it all in one place.”

Following that had been the arrival of three itchy jumpers that the ladies of her Genua house knitted for him. One is periwinkle, another deep violet, and the third forest green.

This cold, Hogswatch eve morning, he opts for the forest green.

The guild has been reduced to skeleton staff and a handful of students left over break. Some are from families and cultures that don’t celebrate Hogswatch, others are like him and plans to visit family didn’t materialize, others are too far away from home to make it worth trekking there only to turn around and trek back.

To Vetinari’s annoyance, Downey is one of the ones lingering in the guild.

Vetinari still is not over the great embarrassment of the Laboratory-Stealth-Pebble-Throwing-Incident (he needs a new name for it). Every time he runs into Downey he swears the other young man’s smile is a sneer. Or it could just be how Downey’s smiles. Unclear to Vetinari who has never spent much time considering how Downey smiles.

Willis bangs into Vetinari’s room, ‘hey, DB.’

Why must everyone call him DB?

‘What, Willis?’

‘I’m having a thing tonight in my room. A wee Hogswatch-eve celebration. Just us grad students. You should come.’

‘I think not.’

‘It’ll be fun. Don’t be daft, DB. Don’t be like Spackleback.’

‘I -‘

‘So you’re coming? Great. Also, speaking of Spackle, don’t tell him it’s happening. I don’t want him greasing up my room.’

Vetinari agrees if only to encourage Willis to leave. This is the problem with Downey’s nick-names for everyone, they’re like tree sap. They tend to stick and for the next decade or so of your life you will be known by a ridiculous name. Spackleback got it the worst, Vetinari admits. Poor Jason Creevy has a tendency towards back acne and Downey capitalized on it so now everyone at the guild calls Jason Creevy “Spackleback.” Everyone except Ludo and Vetinari, that is.

That poor, poor man. Vetinari does not envy him. That said, Creevy is also a bit of a wet blanket with a tendency to wilt onto people who are nice to him. Vetinari made the mistake of a friendly overture years ago in their fourth or fifth year and Creevy spent ten months obsessively following him around. Clearly, making friends was a foolish decision.

Never be soft-hearted. People will cling.

‘Hey, Dog-botherer.’

Vetinari turns from his book to the door. Clearly Willis left it open. And oh what joy, there’s Downey leaning in, one hand holding the door frame.

‘Yes, Downey?’

‘You going to Willis’ party tonight?’

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘If you come, bring booze. It’s bring-your-own so don’t be like Spackleback and mooch off everyone’s alcohol.’

‘I’ve never done that, Downey.’

‘No you haven’t because you never go to anything. Just wanted to make sure you were clear on the rules. Nice sweater.’

‘One of my aunt’s friends knitted it for me.’

Downey nods with the knowledge of a man who has had itchy jumpers foisted upon him in the past. ‘My grandma used to knit me one every year,’ he says.

‘Oh?’

‘Then she died. They always had dogs on them which made them premium wooly jumpers.’

Vetinari looks down at his forest green sweater. It is plain green. He finds he sort of wishes it had a dog on it.

‘Anyway.’ Downey grabs the door knob. ‘Catch you tonight, DB. Be prepared to get pummeled when we dig out Willis’ games. I’m going to waste you.’

‘All right, Downey.’

The door closes. He can hear Downey shouting down the hall at Willis who hollers something back. Why are they so loud? Vetinari thinks bleakly. Why can’t they be quiet?

He continues reading for another chapter then closes his book and rummages through the bottom drawer which is full of all the jumpers that his Aunt’s ladies have made for him over the years. One of them has a dog wearing a Hogfather hat on its head. The dog is sort of lop-sided but he lays it out on his bed to wear. He assumes that since the “party” is just the remaining crew, excepting Creevy, crammed into Willis’ room it’s not going to be formal dress.

 

*

 

At nine Downey and Willis come and drag him from his room, too full from the Guild hall Hogswatch Eve dinner to want to do anything other than lie on his bed with a book, and force him upstairs to Willis’ room.

In total there are seven of them and Willis has put some effort into decorating with red and green streamers and a bush in the corner that someone put a toilet-paper roll dragon on top of as the tree-topper.

Vetinari slides down the wall to the floor with his bottle of wine and Willis hands him a mug pilfered from the kitchens.

‘What’s your poison?’ Willis asks cheerfully.

‘Um, this.’ Vetinari shows him the bottle. ‘It was on sale.’

‘Best wine is on-sale-wine,’ Willis says philosophically. Vetinari points out that this is manifestly not true. In fact, it’s usually the opposite. Willis turns to Downey, ‘you wanted him to come. You talk to him.’

Downey pulls a face before snatching up a deck of cards and settling on the floor by Vetinari.

‘We’re going to play rummy,’ he declares.

Vetinari agrees mostly as something to do. The other boys are becoming quite loud and the room is very warm. As Downey shuffles and deals Vetinari opens his wine, loosing half the cork into the bottle. Great, he thinks, now I’m going to be sifting cork out of my cup for the rest of the night.

If he makes it for an hour he’ll have done his duty and he can leave. He stares with dawning depression at the others and their raucous behaviour. It’s going to be a long hour. Downey snaps fingers in front of his face.

‘You go first, DB.’

‘Are you unable to call me by my name?’

Downey grins. There’s a boyishness to his face that hasn’t left despite puberty and filling out and them both being in their early twenties. And puberty, to Vetinari’s annoyance, did great things for Downey. Again, the Disc conspires against him. Why must life be such a struggle?

‘You’re fun to annoy, DB. And oh I play aces high. Also, we’re doing sudden death. So hold everything in your hand until you’re ready to go out.’

‘That’s my preferred way to play things.’

Downey’s expression changes and to Vetinari it appears to be saying, I know. Vetinari becomes uncomfortable, what a hot feeling. Unsure as to why he attends the game instead of prodding that uncertainty named William Downey, assassin.

‘Why’d you invite me?’ Vetinari asks once they’ve rested in uncomfortable silence long enough.

‘Oh I don’t know, figured we should all engage in the spirit of the season.’

‘But you left out Creevy.’

‘Look, I’m doing us all a favour by insisting he not be invited. He’s a fucking creep. Creepy Creevy.’

‘That’s rather mean of you.’

‘It’s not mean, Dog-botherer, it’s the truth.’

Vetinari considers his hand. He’s on the fence for one of his runs. Should he go for all kings or jack, queen, king? His hand could go either way but, once he has this run sorted he’ll go out. He sorely wants to beat Downey.

‘You know Downey, you’re not a very nice person.’ He picks up the king from the discard pile.

‘Neither are you, yet here we are.’

Indeed, yet here they are.

Vetinari picks up a final king, discards then says, ‘I’m out’ as he lays down his hand.

Downey scowls, ‘I was so damn close, too. Another round? Good. Your shuffle.’

And so it goes. The party becomes loud, it becomes quiet, it goes loud again, then quiet when Creevy knocks on the door and tells them to shut up. It’s past two in the morning. Willis tells Creevy to sod off. Creevy tells Willis he’s a scag. Willis slurs, ‘thems fightin’ words.’ But one of the other boys holds him back and tells Creevy to piss off but that they’ll be quiet. Through it all Vetinari and Downey continue sitting in the middle of the floor playing rummy.

 

  
It soon becomes evident that neither is going to take home the most wins with ease. They find that they’re trading on and off with victories. Vetinari took the first hand, Downey took the second, Vetinari the third and so on and so forth. But now they’re committed; one of them must win.

Vetinari, who does not think himself an arrogant fellow, nor would he count himself ghoulishly competitive the way some lads are, is damned if Downey is going to win.

Judging by Downey’s cheeky determination, Downey is in the same mood.

The crowd continues the party around them. Someone breaks a mug; another spills brandy. At one point Willis slumps on the floor next to them and proceeds to tell Downey how much he loves him and that they’re such great mates and how he feels like they’re brothers. If only Ludo were here, he’d say the same to Ludo. Downey tells Willis he loves him too and that yes, they’re brothers, can he please stop hugging him so he can beat Dog-botherer in this blasted game?

Willis continues to hug him. ‘You’re such a good mate, Will.’

‘Thanks, Willis.’

‘Such -- such a solid mate. I’m so glad I met you. I’m so glad we’re in the same house. Do you remember first day of classes when we met? I knew then that we’d be friends forever.’

‘Me too, Willis. You’re a good friend. I’m also glad you’re in my life. Now please let me cream Dog-botherer.’

‘Yeah,’ Willis pulls away blearily. ‘Kick his arse. Can I bum a smoke?’

Downey fishes in his pockets and produces his pack and match box. Vetinari watches the entire display. No one has ever drunkenly, sloppily told him how much they love him and how he’s their brother. He wonders what it feels like. Probably a bit wet if they’re crying while they tell you they love you and that you’re their best friend. Downey’s jumper is damp but Downey doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe, Vetinari thinks, I should have done more of these sorts of things in my time at a guild. Made more of an effort.

But, he amends, I really have no desire to have someone slobbering on my shoulder smelling like a distillery.

 

  
By half three the others have slunk back to their rooms to nurse spins and headaches. Downey and Vetinari continue in their competition. Willis is passed out, snoring, on his bed with boots still on. The guild is quiet, allowing space enough only for that electric apprehension before a holiday. It flows through the halls, settles in the icy quad, and hugs the rooms.

As if sensing the atmospheric shift, Downey gathers up the cards and returns them to their box, ‘come on.’

‘We’re still tied, we should do one more game.’ Vetinari insists. ‘Just to settle the score.’

‘It’s Hogswatch, rummy can wait. We’ll settle that I’m better than you in the New Year. Come on, we should see if we can hear the Hogfather. At least, I’m going to see if I can hear him. You’re welcome to come so long as you’re quiet.’

Vetinari blinks at Downey. Downey stands, yanks on his boots and rummages for his coat which he can't find. This is unexpected. Vetinari had not thought Downey to be the sort who listens for the jingle of the sleigh. The clip of hooves alighting on rooftop. Vetinari is in wool socks for his boots are in his room but Downey says he doesn’t plan on going outside, just to the library as it affords the best vantage point of the skyline.

Once in the darkened room they move a table over to the wall so they can get high enough up to peer out the iron-ribbed windows. Their breath ghosts against the glass. In a whisper, Downey says, ‘by the way, nice sweater. I like the dog.’

‘I noticed you’re wearing a dog sweater too.’

Downey looks down at his with a chuffed expression. ‘It’s got paw-prints shaped like a Hogswatch tree,’ he explains. Vetinari points out that he could tell, he does have eyes. ‘I know. I just like telling people that. In case. Sometimes they don’t get it.’

‘Your grandmother make it?’

‘Yeah.’

Vetinari shuffles by his knees and pulls up the remainder of his wine. He offers it to Downey. ‘Do you miss her?’

‘Gods yeah, she was only person in my family I could tolerate.’

The bottle is passed back. Vetinari takes a swig. It’s terrible wine. Too sweet with an unexpectedly bitter aftertaste. Outside, it’s snowing and Downey leans over to push open of the windows. Vetinari joins him so they’re both leaning partially out the library window. The city is quiet with snow hushing what little sound would be heard at such an early hour. Vetinari is about to say it’s cold, leaning out the window with only sweaters on, when Downey shushes him. He whispers excitedly, ‘there, Vetinari, can you hear it?’

And he can. In distance there are bells. Silver, crisp and clear.


	3. Sometimes sand beneath us stirs up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Tolpen who requested: "What Have I Ever Done To Anyone To Deserve These Two Worst Flirts On The Disc by Johan Ludorum"

Ludo is a well-read young man who has experienced much of the world – at least, this is how he positions himself. He is the rudder to the ship that is composed of his friends. Currently, he is attempting to guide them all to a pub that is not Bistro 69 which Downey has crudely renamed The Sex Beast Pub.

The pub has nothing at all to do with sex or beasts or bistros, for that matter. It is a dive that requires you to go down an alley then into someone’s basement. Ludo has spent too many sticky nights plastered to the wooden stools listening to Downey and Willis shout at each other. Downey’s love of The Sex Beast Pub rests entirely on the two old men who run it. They hate everyone, everything, and complain loudly when forced to pour beer. Which is, presumably, the basis of their business model. For reasons that have not become apparent to Ludo, this has endeared them to Downey.

‘We could go to the Lion’s Head,’ Ludo suggests.

Downey is lying on Ludo’s bed sideways, his head hang off the edge. His arms are draped down so wrists rest against floor.

‘We could,’ Downey agrees.

‘Or Cloak and Dagger.’

‘Too many assassins with poor taste in Cloak and Dagger.’

This is true. Ludo shrugs. He thinks of another, ‘how about the Green Room?’

‘Oh, maybe.’

This is good. Ludo jumps on the opportunity, ‘yes, Will, let’s go to the Green Room. I’ve been craving their nachos.’

‘Have they reopened?’

‘Um,’ Ludo pauses in thought. ‘I think so? Wait they were closed?’

‘During the summer, you were out of town. Health code violations apparently. Didn’t know Ankh-Morpork had health codes. Didn’t know you could violate them. Didn’t know we even had people enforcing them. Anyway, yeah, sure, let’s check it out. If they’re closed we can always go to-‘

‘I refuse to go to the Beast.’

‘I was going to say Wall Flower but I mean, the Beast has the cheapest beer in the city.’

‘No, Will.’ Ludo says evenly. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

His friend sighs with great theatrics. He complains that no one understands the Beast and if Ludo were to go, one more time, surely he would _get_ the appeal. Ludo pulls his boots on, hauls Downey into an upright position, and pats his cheek.

‘I will never understand Bistro 69, Will. But I love that you love it.’

Downey grins cheerfully, ‘thanks, Ludo. I’m glad you love my love of that dive. Warms the cockles of my cold, black heart.’

 

 

The Green Room is also down an alleyway but unlike Bistro 69 you go up a flight of stairs to get to it, instead of descending into the pit of someone’s basement. The Green Room is not green. Or if the walls are, indeed green, it is impossible to tell. Every inch of available space is taken up with art or shawls or rugs. At some point it attempted to capture a vaguely “Eastern” feeling and with age it has faded to “penny-store exotic.” Smokey from cigars, cigarillos, cigarettes, pipes, hookahs – you move slowly from door to the closest table. They’re low, with shambling couches as seats.

Downey and Ludo make their way to a corner, procure beer along the way, and settle in for a quiet evening.

Halfway through a conversation on the Ankh-Morpork theatre scene, which Downey has declared “trashy,” Ludo watches a familiar face appear in the mist as Havelock Vetinari sits down at the table next to them.

Internally Ludo sighs. The night has been derailed. Downey, who has a preternatural sense of Dog-botherer’s whereabouts, is immediately alert.

‘I didn’t know DB knew about cool bars,’ he says to Ludo in not-quite a whisper.

Ludo replies, ‘be nice, Will.’

Vetinari sinks into his seat, studiously ignoring them, and produces a book. Downey, to his credit, attempts to return to their conversation although he keeps glancing over to DB which is a marvel, since the man isn’t doing anything particularly interesting.

‘Anyway,’ Downey drawls. ‘I maintain that at some point Dubois is going to be idiotic enough to host a Brechtian Theatre night where he’ll talk about monstrosity then hold up a mirror to the audience because we’re all the monsters or something equally stupid.’

‘Dubois has his base moments,’ Ludo agrees, ‘but I still think he’s more of an artist than anything Carter has made.’

‘I don’t know, I think Carter’s more of a uh…performance artist.’

‘That’s one way to put it,' Ludo snorts. 'He painted himself white and sat in a door way.’

‘It was challenging notions of safety and the home,’ Downey insists. ‘At least that’s what I got from it. Who the fuck actually knows.’

‘Just because it’s avant-garde doesn’t mean it’s good.’

Downey rolls his eyes, motions to Ludo’s empty pint. ‘I’ll get the next round. You should sit here and think about how wrong you are regarding Carter.’

‘I’m not wrong, Will, you just have bad taste.’

‘I have impeccable taste.’

‘Uh huh, and I’m the patrician.’

Downey says yeah-yeah-yeah then disappears into the haze in the direction of the bar. From the vague grey space of his right Ludo hears Vetinari say, ‘anyone who paints themselves white is an anathema to art.’

It’s said very softly so Ludo thinks, for a moment, that Vetinari is muttering to himself. But looking over he catches the other man’s eye. Ludo shrugs, what can you do with Downey when he’s set upon something?

‘You’re not wrong,’ Ludo says. ‘Will is in a mood. He’ll defend this to the point of absurdity. It’s what I lovingly call “Rock Talk with William Downey.” Give him a simple question such as “rocks, yes or no?’ and he’ll pick his stance and then never waver from it as the conversation becomes increasingly more absurd. He finds it entertaining. Don’t assume they’re his actually opinion on things, though.’

Vetinari blinks, an ostrich-like expression. He wonders what about that could possibly be entertaining? It sounds absolutely terrible. Ludo shrugs again, says that Will is all right once you get to know him. Vetinari remains unconvinced of any of these points. Ludo can’t blame him, all things considered.

‘Oh,’ Downey announces himself, reappearing with drinks. ‘Dog-botherer.’

‘Downey.’

‘Ludo,’ Downey says, handing over Ludo’s pint.

‘Downey,’ Ludo replies. ‘Vetinari.’

‘Ludo,’ Vetinari says.

‘Well,’ Downey sighs. ‘Now that we’ve made ourselves ridiculous. What are you reading DB?’

‘Nothing of interest to you,’ Vetinari replies primly.

‘You can’t know that,’ Downey snaps.

Ludo silently drinks his beer and wonders which God he offended to be placed so often in the middle of these two as they do whatever it is they’re doing.

‘Trust me, Downey,’ Vetinari intones. ‘You wouldn’t be interested.’

‘Come on, Dog-botherer, tell us.’

Vetinari sneers at Downey. Ludo wants to shake the man. That is the wrong reaction! If you want Downey to back off you have to make him bored. Sneering at him piques his interest. It makes him commit. Telling him he won’t like something will cause him to want to like it. Really, Ludo laments, Vetinari is going about it all wrong.

Downey leans over the edge of their couch and grabs the book from Vetinari who doesn’t put much effort into stopping him. He holds the title up to a candle and turns to Ludo, ‘it’s the Arch-Mage series. The one your sister likes.’

‘Oh,’ Ludo blinks. Unexpected reading material for DB, he thinks. ‘They’re a fun romp.’

‘A shirtless mage romp,’ Downey grins. He twists back around to Vetinari. ‘You’re reading absolute garbage you know.’

‘Yes, Downey, I’m aware.’

‘Why.’

Ludo wants to sink into the couch because he doesn’t deserve this. He deserves more in life than being stuck on a couch as Downey and Vetinari are awkward at each other.

‘I sometimes want to read light-hearted things, Downey.’

‘Why did you think I wouldn’t like it?’ Downey asks.

‘They didn’t seem your sort of reading material,’ Vetinari replies evenly.

‘Oh?’ Downey, sensing a possible insult but unsure if it actually was an insult, narrows his eyes. ‘And what sort of reading material do you think I like?’

‘Nothing worth noting.’ Vetinari stands, drains his glass. ‘If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, Downey.’

‘Dog-botherer I have a fine taste in books,’ Downey snaps.

Vetinari waves him off as he melts into the haze.

‘That snob,’ Downey complains once Vetinari has left. ‘Who does he think he is? He was reading about shirtless mages in the highlands. It’s not like he can speak to quality taste.’

Ludo, with mild interest, ‘why do you care so much, Will?’

‘I don’t.’

‘You always annoy him when he’s around.’

‘It’s fun.’

‘If you want to be friends there’s a more efficient way of doing that. It’s called “hey, would you like to join us for a drink? Cool book, tell us about it.” Which I know you know how to do. I’ve witnessed it on many occasions.’

Downey grumbles about Vetinari having a dumb face and something about him just gets under Downey’s skin so he wants to annoy the man. It’s not personal, he insists. He could stop any time he wants. He just finds mild enjoyment in antagonizing Dog-botherer.

‘Fine, fine,’ Ludo concedes the point. ‘I’m just saying.’

‘I know.’

‘If you want to be friends--’

‘Why would I want that?’

‘There’s a better way to do it than insulting him.’

‘He insulted me!’

‘And bothering him every time you see him.’

‘He bothers me!'

‘And getting into weird petty wars with him.’

‘I don’t start those, but I do finish them.’

Ludo snorts. After nursing his drink for a moment contemplating the history of the great War of Downey and Dog-Botherer. Something occurs to him. He sighs to himself. He sinks a little lower into the couch. Oh gods, if he’s right, things could get very complicated. Downey tends not to operate with simplicity. For those who don’t know Downey this might strike one as a potentially surprising feature for a man who appears simple on the outset. But, as Ludo knows from over twelve years of friendship, Downey is rarely as simple as appears.

Noticing the shift Downey pokes Ludo’s shoulder, ‘what’s up?’

Ludo looks at him then asks, with a philosophical air, ’do you know why boys pull girls’ hair?’

‘Cause boys are dumb?’

‘Something like that.’

Downey stares at him with expectation, clearly waiting for something more. Ludo takes up his pint then Downeys, ‘my turn to get the round, yeah?’

Downey frowns, ‘yeah, you’re turn. Ludo.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m not, you know.’

‘Right,’ Ludo nods.  

‘DB’s just annoying. That’s why I pester him.’

‘Right, I know.’

Downey’s jaw line is very noticeable which means he’s clenching it, ‘I’m not like that.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’ Ludo pauses then adds, ‘I mean there’s nothing wrong with it.’

‘Right, sure, I guess.’ Downey coughs. ‘But I’m not.’

‘You know that right?’

‘What?’

‘That there’s nothing wrong with it.’

Downey, gathering up his bravado, grins and says, ‘oh yes, of course. To each their own and all that. Progress. _Et cetera_.’

Ludo stands with their glasses and asks if he wants more of the same and Downey says no, he’ll have whatever other beer they have on tap. Assuming they have another option. One must shake things up every now and then, right? Ludo rolls his eyes and goes up to the counter.

 

Later that night, after they’ve stumbled into the guild kitchens to scrounge for food in their inebriated state, then upstairs to the dorms Ludo says, ‘hey Will I’ve got a book for you.’

‘Not another one of those stupid Klatchian philosophy ones. I’m never going to let the light in, Ludo. No matter how meditative I get. I don’t-‘ Downey pauses to sway for a second. ‘I don’t get how you can do that.’

‘Clear the mind, Will. Just gotta clear the mind. Anyway, no,’ Ludo breaks away into his room where he rummages before returning with a small yellow-back novel. ‘It’s really bad, but also kind of fun. I read them all when my sister’s done with them.’

In hand is the first book of the Arch Mage of the Highlands series. Downey taps the cover, looking terribly serious.

‘Right,’ Downey hiccups. ‘Fine. I’ll read it. I’ll let you know how I find it.’

‘Great. Looking forward to it.’

Downey isn’t looking at him. He’s flipping through the book with a bemused smile on his face. Ludo turns him and points down the hall, ‘you have to walk six doors that way.’

‘I know how to get to my room.’

‘Just a gentle reminder. Dad-Ludo comes out when I’m drunk.’

‘You’re not a dad, Ludo.’

‘One day.’

Downey inclines his head with a sage expression before wandering, in a zig-zag fashion down the hall. Ludo watches until Downey manages to stumble into his own room and close the door.

Next time, Ludo thinks, I’ll just let him drag me to the Beast.


	4. On the act of thinking of the dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anon who asked for the following prompt: "i can hear you arguing w a policeman and from what i can tell you had to be forcefully removed from a public area because you sat on the ground and refused to move and you're confused about what they're charging you with"

 

Arriving to Ankh-Morpork is always an experience. The peaks of houses, the crumbling city walls, the noise that greets you before you enter, the unseen university shifting in and out of view as fog rolls in from the bay over the city, settling in streets and allies. Vetinari had not missed the dirt or the smell of the city during his Tour but there was an undeniable essence of his home that had clung to him as he traveled and eventually dragged him back. He found that he could run as far as he wanted from the city but she was always there, in the map-work of his mind, in his skin itching to go back.

A collection of dead assassins hang from the city walls at the Hubward Gate as he enters.

He hadn’t missed that, either. Snapcase’s tenuous hold upon reality had slipped further the longer he was in office.

He searches the bloated faces for recognition and sees only one he knew well. The others are either too young or too old. There are wasps settling around the neck. Birds have already come for the eyes and mouth. They go for the soft bits first.

Upper Broadway has not changed significantly, changed although a few shops have turned over in the years of his absence. The flavour of the street, however, remains that of the wealthy. He lingers around the corner of Upper Broadway and a small lane called Merkit-Tour where a café had been five years ago but is no longer. It’s now a haberdashers with the latest head-wear lining the large street facing windows.

Ahead is the looming bulk of the Patrician’s Palace. Behind it the Assassins’ Guild, Brass Bridge, lower Broadway, the declining grandeur of the Opera House. Ankh-Morpork is a gently sinking city with the inescapable melancholy of place that had once been great but is no longer. A place that had once been worth something but has somehow forgotten itself over the years.

Vetinari hoists his bag up and continues walking. Loath as he is to admit it, he isn’t sure this is the right time to have returned. Someone hangs from a lamppost. He scours the face, not one he knows.

At least Winder put up a list of names of the dead; those who had been purged from civic duty and civic life.

Is he looking for one particular face? He isn’t sure. Yes. Possibly. No. He’d have heard, surely, if anyone important had died. Someone would have thought to write him saying: you’re no longer Dog-botherer, by the way.

Is he still Dog-botherer? They’re almost thirty. Well, Downey will be thirty already and Vetinari is near-enough. Surely that game has been buried.

Speaking of that game, he can hear a strident voice saying, ‘no I shall not move.’

That would be Downey. Vetinari sighs.

‘And you will not speak to me in that tone of voice, officer.’

That would be Downey with a Teacher’s Voice, apparently. Has Vetinari been gone so long that he’s missed Downey’s transformation into a teacher? Apparently.

Vetinari rounds the corner to the Guild, having taken the scenic route down Small Gods and through laneways. There, in front of the Guild door, sits Downey with arms folded and a very resolute expression on his face. In front of him is a Watchman in a traditionally ill-fitting uniform and a very tired, possibly hung over, appearance.

‘Look, I have reason to suspect that a murderer is hiding in the guild,’ the officer says in a plaintive voice. Then, an aside, ‘well one more murderer than the usual amount.’

‘Insults will get you nowhere, young man.’ Downey says, still in his Teacher Voice. The young man in question appears to be no younger than Downey himself.

The voice seems to work though and the Watchman straightens up a fraction.

‘Just let me in.’

‘No.’

‘I could arrest you.’

‘On what charges?’

Vetinari steps forward at the moment and Downey, spotting him, smiles with teeth.

‘Hullo Dog-botherer, didn’t know you were due back.’

Ah, Vetinari sighs. Apparently he remains Dog-botherer. Downey remains seated, although he does wave Vetinari over and pats the ground next to him.

‘Come join me, DB. We’re saving Willis from gaol.’

‘Are we?’ Vetinari approaches dubiously.

‘Please don’t get involved,’ the officer says.

As Vetinari passes by he smells the distinct whiff of whiskey and believes it to be the eau-de-cologne of the Watchman. Downey looks sober and Vetinari can usually tell when he’s drunk, having spent many years in the company of inebriated Downey.

‘Please, get involved,’ Downey chimes, patting the ground again. ‘Sit with me.’

Vetinari looks between Downey, seated cross-legged and with perfect posture, the officer who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, then up to the windows where students are leaning out and making rude gestures at the Watchman. Vetinari had plans. He had plans to settle back into the Guild, maybe pick up some old research he had left off before the Tour, write to Madam to let her know he had arrived back safely, and spend the next week or so getting his bearings. He has plans for the future, too. Those plans involving the hulking wreak of the Patrician’s Palace and not getting dragged into a cell with Downey for obstructing justice or whatever it is Downey is up to.

‘What did Willis do?’ Vetinari asks, still not sitting but certainly having put his stuff down in such a manner as to block the front door. Downey is cheerful about this.

‘No clue, but this Watchman is intent on arresting him so I’m not moving.’

‘Your friend,’ the watchman says in the voice of a man who has explained this many times, ‘Mr. Willis _, esquire_ ,’ esquire added in the voice of a man who has been informed of this matter also many times, ‘has been accused of murdering a Mr. Alfred B. Farthington.’

‘Farty was never murdered. Well, maybe he was murdered but not by Willis,’ Downey says.

Vetinari sighs very deeply.

Downey continues, ‘when was this supposed murder to have taken place?’

‘It’s not supposed,’ the Officer replies. ‘Mr. Farthington’s head was detached from his body and his liver was removed. I’m pretty sure that’s murder. Oh, he was also stabbed, shot with a cross bow and poisoned.’

‘Sounds like a bit of overkill,’ Vetinari says helpfully as he sits next to Downey. Downey’s cheer increases and he excitedly whispers that Vetinari pun-ed. Good man. ‘But not an inhumation.’

‘Could be Sump,’ Downey says to Vetinari.

‘Sebastian wouldn’t remove livers. He was made ill when we had to dissect frogs.’

‘Sump’s gone and found the dickie-birds in recent years.’

‘Has he?’

‘Indeed. I blame it on his receding hairline. He was always so proud of his hair; now it’s disappearing off his head, he’s grown a very unfortunate moustache, he’s living off peanut butter and this strange hazelnut spread. Anyway, Sump could have done it. But not Willis.’

The officer looks between the two of them in a state of despair.

‘Please, my captain expects me to bring this Mr. Wilson in for questioning.’

Downey shakes his head, ‘over your dead body.’

‘Isn’t it uh supposed to go “over my dead body”?’

‘Usually, but in this case I’ll make an exception and trust me, young man, it’ll be over your dead body.’

The officer straightens up more then states in a resolute manner, ‘then you will have to come with me.’

‘On what charges? I ask again.’

‘Obstructing justice and loitering with intent.’

Downey spreads his hands, ‘first, officer uh – what’s your name again?’

‘Vimes.’

‘Right. Mr. Slimes-‘

‘Sergeant _Vimes._ ’

‘Mr _. Vimes_ ,’ Downey smiles in a terribly polite manner. ‘First off the law is not justice nor is it moral. The law simply is a means by which those in power maintain their hegemony over those who are not in power. Certainly some laws exist to ensure order and repercussions for actions that upset social order, but let us not delude ourselves as to how laws are enforced. Since the law is not justice, I am not obstructing justice by preventing you from apprehending someone. In fact, it would be an injustice to bring in Willis, or Mr. Wilson as you insist on calling him, to question since he did nothing wrong. Second, I am not loitering nor am I loitering with intent. I’m simply sitting on the doorstep of a private building with my newly returned colleague who has yet to regale me with tales of all the parts foreign he visited. You, sir, on the other hand, are loitering with intent on private property and harassing private citizens. I should call the Watch on you.’

The sergeant looks down at his feet then takes a step backwards so he is clearly on the road. Then looks at Downey with a pointed expression.

‘When did the murder happen?’ Vetinari asks.

‘Your friend is wrong you know,’ the sergeant says to him.

Vetinari nods, ‘Mr. Downey is often wrong-‘

‘I am here you know.’ Downey grumbles.

Vetinari ignores him, ‘now, Sergeant Vimes, please, when was the murder committed?’

‘Um, last night around midnight.’

Vetinari turns to Downey, ‘do you know where Willis was at that time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you tell the sergeant?’

‘No.’

Vetinari blinks. Downey is impassive. This is not how his first day back in the glorious dump that is Ankh-Morpork was supposed to have gone. He was supposed to be settling in. He was supposed to be reacquainting himself with his favourite haunts. He was supposed to be having dinner drinks with Madam’s protégé at the Music Academy to make sure everything is still in order.

He was not supposed to be sitting on the Assassins’ Guild stoop with Downey arguing with a drunk Watchman.

‘Downey just tell him where Willis was.’

‘Willis was occupied at midnight. With a friend.’

The sergeant’s relief is apparent. He procures a notebook, licks his pencil and begins to write. He asks, ‘who is the friend? Can they corroborate his alibi?’

‘I didn’t see who it was,’ Downey says. ‘But trust me sergeant, I could hear them well enough. We share a wall.’

The sergeant’s face becomes a fascinating shade of red. He coughs and says, ‘oh I see’ then pockets the pencil and notebook.

‘And uh,’ the sergeant squints up at the interest faces of assassins looking down at him from guild windows, ‘this Sump fellow, do you know where I could find him?’

‘He won’t be helpful.’ Downey says, standing and brushing himself off. ‘He died tragically sometime in the night.’

The sergeant stares at Downey. Or, rather, peers at Downey. It’s quite funny, Vetinari thinks, watching someone’s gears beginning to turn. Downey is smiling and leans over to pat the sergeant’s shoulder.

‘I wouldn’t worry about this case too much. And I wouldn’t worry about the murderer striking again. My instinct tells me it was a one-off.’

‘By all rights I should arrest you.’

‘I again ask, on what charges?’

‘I don’t know! But I should!’

‘There, there,’ another conciliatory pat. ‘I’m sure you’ll get over it. Ta, sergeant.’ Downey looks up at the students still watching, ‘and don’t you all have classes to get to?’ They disappear from the windows with haste. Downey then turns to Vetinari, takes up one of his bags, and says ‘welcome back to Ankh-Morpork, DB. As you can see, nothing’s changed. But my gut tells me it’s about to.’

Vetinari follows him in with a bemused expression.

‘I suspect that your gut might be right for once, Downey.’  


	5. Destroying Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From @squadrom-of-damned on Tumblr (tolpen on here). 
> 
> "Okay, maybe you remember the Stubborn Couples writing prompt thing. I've come up with one prompt of my own and it fits really well for our Assassin-Patrician couple, hear me out: "We've got strangled in the we-are-gonna-die situation and in an attempt to accept the possible death more easily I jokingly said that if we make it out alive I'm taking you out for a date, man we really suck at dying, but like hell I'm backing off what I said because my oaths are sacred.""

This is what happens when the Assassins’ Guild prankster strikes: a group of twenty-odd students indignant (and not at all terrified) that _amanita virosa_ , famous destroying angel mushroom, has been added to their soup.

Certain death! Painful, elongated, _shameful_ certain death!

Everyone declares that should they live they will inhume the _fuck_ out of whoever did this. One person, in a moment of mad desire to be obnoxious to the person next to him adds, ‘and once I’m done inhuming him I’d take you on a date dog-botherer. Just to annoy you.’

‘That makes no sense, Downey. Why would you do that?’

‘As I said, to annoy you. To make you wish you had died. And, since we’re possibly on our way out DB, your last thoughts are going to be of that horror. You’re welcome.’

 

They do not die. At least, not in this trouser leg of time.

 

Guild Prankster, Stephen Blowbat, is hung up by the back of his jerkin in the guild fencing hall and left over night as punishment. It is returning from the hanging of Stephen Blowbat when Downey runs into Vetinari looking paler than usual, if possible, and carrying a stack of books.

Instinctually Downey grabs the top book and dances away with it, ‘what’s this Dog-botherer? Oh now you’re interested in fungi? Only because of Batface’s little mess?’

‘I thought it pertinent to read up on it.’

Downey flips through the book then tosses it back with a sneer, ‘it’s a fine beginner book for those who only have an elementary understanding. Good for you for knowing your limits.’

‘I noticed you didn’t catch that it was a hoax until a few hours in.’

‘Look up Destroying Angel DB then tell me how long until symptoms become noticeable.’

Vetinari, hands full, glares.

‘Five hours at the earliest,’ Downey supplies. ‘Come now, surely you remember your intro mycology course.’

‘I remember plenty from it.’

‘Uh huh.’

Vetinari side-steps Downey to continue down the hall away from the muffled cries emanating from the fencing hall. Downey spins on his heels and strides after the other young man.

‘You should take Mr. Blowbat down,’ Vetinari says as they near stairs up to the graduate rooms.

‘Batface deserves it. Batface’s a scag.’

‘Yes, Downey.’

‘So you free Friday?’

Vetinari, standing a few steps ahead of Downey, slowly turns and blinks at him with his owlish expression.

‘Seven?’ Downey prompts.

‘For what purpose?’

‘Dinner, Dog-botherer. We lived, therefore you must suffer our continued existence upon this mortal shuffleboard by going to dinner with me. I keep my promises, as ill thought out as they sometimes are. Let’s say seven and uh Agatean? I know a sushi place.’

‘ _What_?’

‘Good, I’ll pick you.’ Downey grins with what can be termed a _shit-eating_ expression, does an approximation of finger cross bows and walks off.

‘We live down the hall from each other,’ Vetinari says to Downey’s back. Then, to an empty corridor, ‘you can’t pick me up if we live in the same building.’  


 

Picking up means Downey rapping on his door at five to seven wearing a nice outfit and shoving a book in his face. Vetinari takes the offending volume from Downey and looks at it.

 _Linnius’ Depiction of Mushrooms and other Fungi Including Those Found On The Counter-weight Continent and Foreign Climes_.

‘It’s dated but not bad and the images are done by Nicolas Huilliot and that other guy.’

‘What other guy?’

‘Hm something about ships and doors, doors and ships, it’s green, oh yes Alexander Desportes.’

Vetinari stares at Downey, ‘I think you’re a bit mad, Downey.’

‘Don’t be daft DB, I’m sanest man in the room. Come, I’ve made a reservation for half-seven.’

Vetinari considers saying no. He considers backing out, as he has considered all week. Downey looks at him with mild expectation as if he, too, is waiting for Vetinari to balk. But, if Downey expects Vetinari to be the one who will bail out of this then he clearly does not know his classmate well. So, with some measurable equanimity Vetinari says, ‘very well, lead on.’

And Downey does.

 

The sushi place Downey has in mind is across the Ankh near Hide Park with a view of the river, for what that is worth. The fumes ghosting up from the river brush against the restaurant’s windows. The two assassins are placed at a corner table facing the out to the larger room. A small establishment, The Mazz, as it’s known, is frequented primarily by Agatean merchants and a handful of more worldly Ankh-Morporkians. This Friday evening it’s calm and dimly lit.

‘So, no mushrooms?’ Downey asks as they peruse the menu.

‘I think I’ve rather gone off them for the moment, haven’t you?’

‘Two orders of vegie tempura then?’

The vegetable tempura in question involves mushrooms. Vetinari looks over the menu at Downey. When their eyes lock Vetinari makes sure to give Downey a withering look.

Because Downey enjoys a theme he makes sure their appetizer is full of mushrooms then harasses Vetinari until he eats some.

‘You’re making a raucous,’ Vetinari hisses as Downey cajoles him into another mushroom tempura.

‘So?’

Vetinari will not say he is embarrassed. Instead, he says that Downey is being inconsiderate of other guests. Downey jabs a mushroom tempura in Vetinari’s face, ‘I told you this date was going to make you wish you were dead. Wait till we’re done with dinner, I’ve got us booked for an operetta.’

‘Gods.’

‘It’s about sailors I think. I didn’t inquire too deeply.’

‘I didn’t agree to a night out Downey.’

‘Date, Dog-botherer. I promised you a hellish date so a hellish date you will receive.’

‘You needn’t have delivered on this promise, Downey. I’d not have thought less of you for reneging on it.’

Downey sneers, flags the waiter, ‘my companion here, Dog-botherer is his name, it’s his birthday and I think he’d really like it if everyone sang him a song.’

The waiter looks from Downey’s encouraging face to Vetinari’s murderous one.

‘Um,’ the water says.

Downey whispers, ‘I’ll tip you _very_ generously.’

‘Sure, birthday song and dance coming right up!’

‘ _And dance?_ ’ Vetinari asks weakly.

 

 

The operetta is being performed at a small theatre near the sushi house so they are able to take a lingering walk around the block. Vetinari is torn between bailing on the date and seeing it through to the inevitable, terrible conclusion. The part that argues for bailing says that since he suffered through dinner he has done his duty. The part that argues for remaining says that Downey will call him chicken-shit or a lily-livered something or other and that would be unfortunate. Downey already has a plethora of addendums that are often tacked onto Dog-botherer so best not to give him any more.

Anyway, Downey is currently waxing poetic about fractals for unknown reasons and it’s mildly interesting.

They pause by the opening to an alleyway near the theatre. 

‘Downey?’

‘What?’

‘I have a question.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Why are you like this?’

Downey’s face becomes a picture of innocence. Or, an approximation of innocence.

‘Whatever do you mean?’

Vetinari can see where this conversation will go so mutters a never mind.

‘No, no, Dog-botherer, you can’t bring something up like that then drop it as if you asked about the weather.’

‘It’s a several pointed question, really, when one gets down to it-’

‘ _When one gets down to it,’_ Downey mimics as he pulls out a cigarette and match box. ‘Lord.’

Vetinari soldiers on, ignoring Downey’s quip. He explains that he is confused on several points those points can be laid out thusly:

  1. Downey has spent much of his life attempting to bully Vetinari in one form or another
  2. Downey has never cited a reason for the apparent dislike he feels for Vetinari but Vetinari will own that often bullies need no reason for choosing their targets
  3. Despite this fraught history between the two of them Downey, when everyone thought they were dying (Downey interjects: Fucking Batface is a scag), decides that his dying breath is going to be spent asking Vetinari out on a “hellish date” whilst their colleagues were attempting to record last notes to loved ones (Downey interjects again: Lame-os).
  4. Now, on the day of their “hellish date” Downey gave Vetinari a book on mushrooms, a kind act, then proceeds to be an absolute nuisance.
  5. Why is internal consistency in your actions lacking?



Vetinari finishes his list then waits with great patience. Downey smokes and stares at him through the smoke.

‘Dog-botherer.’

‘Yes, Downey?’

‘You’re a fucking weirdo.’

‘That’s not an answer to my inquiry.’

Snubbing out the fag Downey says that it sort of is, in a manner of speaking. The show’s about to start so they should head in. Vetinari watches as Downey procures two tickets from an inner coat pocket then grabs his arm and pulls him towards to the decrepit entrance.

  


The operetta is painful, even by Downey’s standards and Downey loves all opperatas in any form and will happily consume even the worst of them. So, instead of paying attention he ponders Dog-botherer’s questions and finds that really, it all ends at the fact that DB is a weirdo and Downey likes to bother him. It’s a form of stress relief, almost. Though in its origins there was cruelty and the intention to humiliate it’s evolved since then and now, as they both rest awkwardly in their mid-twenties, it’s more out of habit than anything else.

He tries to order his thoughts the way DB had his layed out because lists are useful things. So, why does he take such pleasure in always bothering the younger man?

1\. That was a statement. Downey acknowledges its truth.  
2\. There’s no clear reason he can recall - mostly, Vetinari was there, often alone, and therefore an easy target for harassment. Then once it started and became clear that getting a reaction from the boy was incredibly difficult it became a sort of challenge. Most of the other kids he bullied as a child he left off once it got boring, which was often within a few days.

He leans over and hisses into Dog-botherer’s ear, ‘if you had reacted to anything I did I would have gotten bored and left you alone.’

Vetinari’s face doesn’t change. He is staring at the stage with resolute disgust at the performance.

Downey settles back into his seat. He continues his analysis.

3\. The hellish date he proffered as a sort of joke, a sort of non-joke. Mostly, he thought it would make DB uncomfortable. It apparently did nothing of the sort, it just mildly annoyed him. Though that is something of a small victory.  
4.He doesn’t know why he gave him the book.  
5\. Who is internally consistent? No one. Well, maybe DB is. But he’s the exception that proves the rule.

Downey leans over again, ‘only freaks and weirdos are internally consistent. Most people aren’t.’

Vetinari whispers, without turning to look at him, ‘you’re distracting me from the show.’

‘You’re hating it.’

‘I intend to hate it with all of my attention.’

Downey admires this resolution so again settles back into his seat. There are many things he admires about Dog-botherer, though he would never admit it publicly. Mostly, he finds he likes how weird DB because really, there isn’t anyone Downey knows who is categorically _weirder_ than DB.

  


‘What’s it like being internally consistent?’ Downey asks. They are strolling back to the guild and have finished repeatedly saying ‘that was appalling’ about the operetta.

‘I couldn’t say.’

‘Very even keeled in your head? It’s not like your brain is on fire half the time?’

Vetinari raises his eyebrows, what an exhausting state to be in! Downey frowns, he says it must be quite boring then being in Vetinari’s head with nothing going on.

‘Being “even keeled” as you put it, does not equate to “nothing going on”.’

Downey wants to ask how he manages it, being so calm, having everything in order and control. Downey can barely organize his sock drawer let alone his head. It’s why he likes collecting butterflies, there is control in cataloguing his specimens. It’s why taxonomy is so important to him, and knowing every detail about every plant on the disc. Such things are a calm lake.

Vetinari is a very calm lake. All the stones Downey tosses at him cause not a ripple. He won’t apologize for calling Vetinari shallow, but he does own to himself that the saying of _still waters run deep_ holds some truth. At least in this particular instance.

Deciding he owes Dog-botherer a kindness Downey asks, ‘have I ever told you about the giant Queen of the Ramptops? Uh, the Titanka plant.’

‘You’ve never told me much about anything,’ Vetinari points out.

‘It’s massive and only blooms once every twenty or so years wherein the flower looks like raw meat and smells like rotting horseflesh in summer.’

Vetinari wrinkles his nose, ‘that sounds disgusting.’

‘It is!’ Downey enthuses. ‘Vile. It’s a bromeliad, like pineapples. Rotting flesh pineapples that are ten meters tall.’

‘Is it edible?’

‘Don’t know, I’ve not had a chance to find out.’

Vetinari pauses, they are close to the guild and the evening fog continues to roll in from the Ankh surrounding them. Hiding them so they can see one another but only dim outlines of buildings, the softened glow of candle-lit windows.

‘Downey.’

‘Yes, Dog-botherer?’

‘Do you think it’s within you to keep this side of you up in the future. It’s immensely preferable to the other side of you that I’ve known.’

Downey says ‘um’ for a long moment. This is followed by another moment of ‘uh.’ Vetinari waits. Downey thinks the man has the patience of a rock. An interesting rock who seems to want to hear about plants.

‘You won’t get annoyed if all I talk about is plants and insects?’

‘No.’

‘All right. But if anyone asks, I’m doing this because I pity you and think you need friends.’

Vetinari blinks, looks up to night sky, then back to Downey. He lets out a dry ‘ha’ that might have been a laugh. Downey takes this as encouragement and adds, ‘because really DB, you don’t have any and that’s kind of sad and pathetic.’

‘All right,’ Vetinari says. ‘You’re saving me from a lifetime of loneliness. If that will soothe your phenomenal ego.’

Downey nods with an arrogant smirk. Damn right he’s saving Dog-botherer, gods knows DB wasn’t going to go and save himself. Vetinari rolls his eyes but only when Downey couldn’t see him.

‘Do you want to see a piece of the Titanka?’ Downey asks as they resume walking. Vetinari says all right, why not. It can’t be worse than the operetta. ‘I don’t know, Gertie’s pretty foul even though she’s a dried husk.’  

‘Gertie?’

Downey glares.

Vetinari continues, ‘that’s a very sound name for a plant. Even if it’s only a portion of a plant. I have a spider plant in my room named Simon.’

Downey relaxes a fraction. Dog-botherer was also a plant namer. He catalogues this away for future use. Some part of him says that it’s important that DB also names his plants. That they both name plants. Ludo’s the only person other than DB who hasn’t laughed at his plant names. He thinks this signifies something but isn’t sure he’s comfortable with whatever that signifier is so tucks it away.

Before they enter the guild through the traditional side entrance used by students discreetly returning post-curfew Vetinari stops Downey.

‘I believe it’s traditional for me to say that I had a good evening even though you made me eat more mushrooms than one person should reasonably consume and then we watched bad theatre.’

‘Aww,’ Downey sneers, ‘was that your first date DB?’

Vetinari glares, ‘hardly. And I don’t think it truly constitutes a date. That would require romantic interest on the part of the parties involved. Regardless, I had a pleasant evening despite your efforts to the contrary.’

‘Good, I think. I’m glad? Anyway, you still want to see Gertie?’

‘Yes, Downey, I’d love to see Gertie.’


	6. Of Pastoral Teacups and Brindisian Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who requested:  
> Perhaps Downey reminiscing over the rise of Vetinari as a Tyrant for the people? Or maybe Downey is the man Vetinari visits after his first assassination?
> 
> I went for the second one.

It’s two months later. Two months after all those angels and lilacs and dead cops and soldier songs. Vetinari isn’t sure how he is supposed to sit with his first inhumation – complicated by the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be inhuming yet. Only sixteen (seventeen in a month thank you very much!) he’s yet to take the black.

There’s lots of things he isn’t sure how to sit with so he doesn’t. He works late at the library on projects that he has assigned for himself because keeping busy is a sign of moral rectitude or something. It’s a sign of being in control. He is in control. He is fine.

What is there to not be fine about? He didn’t  _actually_ inhume anyone. He didn’t run the blade through Winder’s chest as he was supposed to because there hadn’t been a need. His hands remain, at present, bloodless. He’s fine. He’s never not been fine. He can feel the calcification of his skin, so hard nothing can penetrate. He is not crushed about the fallout of the revolution – no he  _expected_ it to go poorly in the long run. He tells himself this when he talks to himself late at night with history books open to remind him of lessons of the past. He expected it. There’s nothing worse than being an optimist about the inevitable.

But he won’t sink to the degradation of pessimism, either. Realism is balancing the two.

He reads a lot of Marcus Aurelianus.

 

An apple smacks into his arm. He looks to the ground, there the bruised green fruit lays. He looks across the Guild quad to spy his assailant. It is the usual culprit.

‘Eyyup Dog-botherer,’ Downey sneers. ‘Off your game.’

Vetinari picks up the apple, brushes it off, then tucks it away for later. He turns to walk away but then pauses. Hadn’t Downey asked him if he’s taken the black? Hadn’t Downey asked if he’d ever inhumed anyone?

He does not like to linger on that night. It’s a pile of things he cannot begin to parse through though he tells himself it’s because he’s fine and well organized and that was in the past and they are in the present and there’s no use in lingering on what has happened, only what is and what will be.

He spins back to face Downey who looks surprised at being acknowledged. Downey, when surprised, is a performance in exaggerations. His mouth opens then closes twice. His eyes go wide, so brown they’re black, then he squints. His nose wrinkles. He half-sneers so there’s a glimmer of white teeth between thin lips.  

‘Wot?’ Downey asks when Vetinari doesn’t speak.

‘Have you done your first inhumation yet?’

Downey blinks. Whatever he had expected Vetinari to say, that had not been it.

‘Uh, yeah. Why?’

Vetinari shifts. ‘What was it like?’

‘Um.’ Downey is clearly clutching around for something to say. His expression is stupid. ‘You know—‘

Vetinari gives up. Downey is clearly not the person to ask – indeed Vetinari must be suffering from exhaustion to have even thought Downey to be the person to ask. Why not Ludo or Willis or any of the other lads who, while not particularly inspired, are at least more tolerable than the one who is standing before him with tilted head and fish-like expression.

 

 

Marcus Aurelianus is not proving soothing. Vetinari notes down in his journal some of the more sage advice he wishes to emulate but struggles to apply himself to them at this moment. He writes,  _Let it be thy earnest and incessant care as a Morkporkian and a man to perform whatsoever it is that thou art about, with true and unfeigned gravity, natural affection, freedom and justice: and as for all other cares, and imaginations, how thou mayest ease thy mind of them. Which thou shalt do; if thou shalt go about every action as thy last action, free from all vanity, all passionate and wilful aberration from reason, and from all hypocrisy, and self-love, and dislike of those things, which by the fates or appointment of God have happened unto thee._

Finishing the passage, which takes up two pages when written out in a proper manner, he stares at it. What did he expect to feel upon inhuming Winder? Gratification? Pride? Knowing he had rid Ankh-Morpork of yet another vain, petty and cruel patrician.

Should he have wanted to feel pride for it? Vanity? Is he vain?

Perhaps he is not made of the stern stuff he wished to fashion himself out of. Perhaps he is soft materials like his colleagues at the Guild. He is no Marcus Aurelianus.

There’s a knock. Vetinari carefully dusts the page before closing his journal and going to the door.

It’s Downey. It’s Downey in a bottle of Brindisi wine.

‘You asked about inhumation.’ Downey states.

‘I did.’

‘So you did one before you're even close to taking the black.’

Vetinari says nothing. Downey pushes past him into the room. Setting the wine down on Vetinari’s bookshelf he looks around at the space with its plain bed, small desk cramped with papers and books, the several bookshelves which make the room feel even smaller. The window is open so a pleasant afternoon sun illuminates with such soft dust particles dancing in air.

Pulling his tabard off and dropping it on Vetinari’s desk chair Downey uncorks the wine with a knife at his belt and produces two tea cups from a pack hung from his belt. He pours them both a cup then proceeds to drape himself across Vetinari’s bed. Vetinari leans against the wall opposite and marvels at how one person can possibly personify  _debauched_  and  _worldly_ and _bored_  and  _arrogant_ with one single movement.

‘Salud, Dog-botherer.’

Vetinari takes the wine. He sniffs it. Downey watches him as he drinks.

‘Who was it?’ Downey asks when Vetinari seems ill equipped to begin the conversation. ‘And how much?’

Vetinari purses his lips. Downey takes another sip with a contemplative air. It’s not an expression Vetinari has ever seen on Downey’s face due to the older boy not being particularly contemplative.

‘When was it?’ Downey asks.

‘A few months ago.’

Downey nods. Vetinari can see the wheels turning. The calculations happening. It occurs to Vetinari, then, that Downey might not be as stupid as he appears. Downey gives him a vicious smile.

‘I wondered who did it, since Bloody Bleedwell didn’t.’

Vetinari sips his wine.

‘Heart attack they said,’ Downey continues. ‘Which poison did you use?’

This is a bad idea, Vetinari thinks. Today overall was a bad idea. I can’t tell him I didn’t actually inhume Winder. I can’t tell him I didn’t touch anything and the man dropped dead and I’m just not sure what to do with all of this.

‘It was a heart attack,’ he hears himself say. ‘I walked up to him, told him the city sent me, and he died.’

‘Phenomenal.’

Downey seems honestly impressed. He pours himself wine then leans over and pours another cupful for Vetinari.

‘What was your first?’ Vetinari asks.

‘No one in particular.’

Vetinari isn’t sure how to phrase his question. He isn’t sure he even has a question. Any inquiry seems banal or something he shouldn’t ask because they are assassins and they live in a city so full of death such things should be familiar.

Downey shifts, his doublet is split after the belting and from a hidden pocket he pulls out a case of hand-rolled cigarettes. He offers one to Vetinari who declines. Striking a match he breaths in then flares his nose with exhale. The smoke ghosts up around then wafts gently towards the window. With the lighting and relaxed position, closed eyes, smoke, Downey is like a portrait.

‘It’s weird the first one, isn’t it?’ Downey says after a second drag. ‘You’re sort of expected to just get on with it, you know? But it’s weird. Did you look in his eyes as he died?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yeah, so did I. Apparently that’s the mistake. Ludo swears by it. You look anywhere but their eyes. Nose, mouth, shoulder. I mean, I suppose it depends how you’re doing it. My first was tricky, ended up having to garrotte the man but he was facing a mirror so you know. You can’t help but look and he was clearly looking in the mirror and so we sort of looked at each other then he died.’

‘Was it very messy?’

‘Oh yes, quite. I don’t like messy ones.’

‘So you poison them.’

Downey nods. He says he likes elegant deaths. If someone is going to die by his hand it might as well be in a classy manner. Granted, some side effects from poisons aren’t particularly pretty and the final death itself is never nice. Bowels empty, the nervous systems last twitches and ticks.

‘But you know,’ Downey continues. ‘The  _concept_  of poisoning is an elegant one. It makes me think of champagne glasses and the colour of rose-silver.’

‘You were fine after your first, though?’

Downey shrugs, ‘I mean sure, why not Dog-botherer. I was fine. I’m sure you’re fine too. We’re a Guild full of people who are absolutely fine. Gods know I’m the finest person on the Disc who ever was fine. You’re also fine. I can tell. You’re so fine with your stoics and ancient philosophers telling you about duty and honour and whatever other bullshit it was they were keen on.’

Vetinari glares at the young man then he glances towards his desk where Aurelianus’  _Meditations_  is evident. Downey shrugs at his anger, the way Downey always shrugs at his anger. He thinks that if Downey perhaps read more and partied less and was more serious about his work he’d be a better person for it. Downey could learn a thing or two about restraint and doing one’s duty and putting important things before oneself.

‘You happy being an assassin, DB?’

‘What?’

‘You happy? At the Guild? Being an assassin?’

‘I fail to see what happiness has to do with any of this.’

Downey sits up, snubs out his smoke and puts the case away. He pours them both another round then says DB ought to be careful. There’s a dangerous path to go thinking happiness hasn’t got anything to do with one’s life and one’s choices.

‘You’re going to end up sad and alone, DB. I mean you’re already alone. But it’ll be more pathetic and pitiable when you’re seventy than when you’re sixteen.’

‘I’ll be seventeen in a month.’

‘Whatever. Perfection’s stupid and Marcus Aurelianus was a scag. Anyway, I’m off. Feel free to finish the wine. I’ve got a pub night planned with Ludo.’

‘Poor Ludo.’

‘No. Poor you,’ Downey slides himself off the bed and gathers up his tabard and tea cup. ‘Whatever weird feelings of guilt or remorse or whatever else you’re feeling because you killed someone, even though he was a complete wanker, I’m pretty sure is normal. The scag I inhumed was a piece of garbage but I spent a month drinking after. The second person I inhumed was an absolute saint and I felt less about her death than the first one.’ He shrugs. ‘It goes away, the more people you inhume. I had a job last week, officially my twentieth. Didn’t feel a thing. Ludo doesn’t either, anymore. Though he swears he never did to begin with but he has this  _machismo_  that comes out sometimes. Anyway, more people you kill the easier it gets. You stop feeling it. Or you don’t, but then you’ll stop being an assassin. I talked to Dr. Tindel after the first-‘

‘When was it?’

Downey’s look is an even one. At length he answers, ‘a while ago.’

‘So,’ Vetinari replies slowly. ‘Before the black.’

‘Yeah. Tindel’s a good sport though, he won’t tell.’

‘How old were you?’

‘Younger than I am now.’

‘Seventeen? Sixteen?’

Downey smiles - it’s a mean one. Vetinari changes tact, asks, ‘why poor me?’

‘Oh! well poor you because I was the one you thought to ask.’

Vetinari sneers, ‘some of us have work and actually think to be serious in our studies so therefore don’t have time to cultivate large, wide ranging groups of friends.’

‘Yeah,’ Downey says with extreme pity which could be derision. ‘Sure, that’s the reason. Whatever makes you happy.’

‘And I thought to ask Ludo,’ Vetinari quickly adds.

Downey’s look remains one of pity and smug superiority and Vetinari wants to scrub the imprint of it off his skin. This isn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go. It is he who should pity Downey for being so brash and stupid and blind, not Downey who pities him for being alone.

At the door Downey stands picking at the frame for a moment before he tosses his head to the side in a lackadaisical manner, ‘you free tonight DB?’

‘I-‘

‘Other than your very pressing studies.’

‘Um.’

‘Look, I don’t care, but if you want company or whatever we’re going to the Green Lounge. Probably at eight or nine.’

‘Oh.’

‘We’re probably going to eat there because we’re masochists. Anyway. I’m just saying.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Ciao, scag.’

Downey is two doors down when Vetinari sticks his head into the hall, ‘Downey.’

‘Wot?’

‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’

‘The wine.’

Downey nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak but ends up shaking his head, muttering that Vetinari is a dumb scag and needs to make friends because Downey isn’t interested in being his shoulder to cry on. Not that DB cried of course, but he’s speaking metaphorically.  _Anyway_. Downey half-waves, turns and continues down the hall.

Vetinari watches him descend down the stairs before closing his door. The teacup Downey left with Vetinari’s remaining wine is emptied then placed on the bookshelf next to a figurine of the Ankh-Morpork Hippo Madam gave him last Hogswatch. He positions the cup so the image on it, that of two shepherds lounging on a hill, is visible from his desk.


	7. how are we to be idle and blessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @thefinalasunder (on tumblr) who requested something about Downey, Vetinari and guild sports.

End of first summer term is celebrated at the Assassins Guild with what has been termed Field Day. It is positioned as a fun day out in the sun for students and faculty. What it is, in actuality, is a fierce day of absolute competition where each Guild Academy house strives to demonstrate that it is the best of the lot. This is done through arduous games such as Capture Creepy Creevy’s Jerkin Which Has Replaced The Flag We Were Supposed To Be Capturing. The Viper House wins this and it is celebrated with Downey tossing the jerkin away in disgust after having literally ripped it off Creevy’s back shouting ‘got the flag! But it’s Spackleback’s so don’t touch it.’

The next is a friendly game of Rugger which ends in a brawl. Creevy sits on top of Dog-botherer in order to prevent him tackling Marcus, Willis stands in the middle of the field smoking a hash-laced fag and giving the V to everyone who runs by him, Ludo appears in the middle of the game with a sausage in an bun, and Downey starts the fight with the opposing team thereby forcing Creevy to get off of Dog-botherer allowing the Viper house to score the only point in the entire game. Dr. Tindel and Follett gave up trying to monitor ten minutes in.

Downey is one of life’s natural sportsmen. He enjoys team-related anything so long as he is leading the team and his team is winning. Thus far, the Viper house is in the lead which gives him great pleasure as he makes a face at Creevy who stands with his Broken-Moon housemates. ‘Take that Spackleback!’

Creevy glares, ‘you’re a fucking cheater Downey!’

‘And you’re ugly as sin. Yet here we all are.’

 

 

The next game is announced by Dr. Mericet in a bored tone, it is to be a riff on Sardines. ‘No weapons, no explosives, no abrasive powders this year Mr. Downey I don’t care what plant hybrid you bred for this precise purpose is involved, no threatening lawsuits Mr. Ludovorum, no insulting anyone’s mothers, grandmothers, great aunts, second cousins, tertiary cousins or twins you may have eaten in the womb (I don’t want to know why this is on the list of rules), no unlawful acts of body contortions, no body doubles, all clothes must remain on, and no use of any sort of liquid, gel or other devices or inventions to make it easier to slide into difficult spots.’

The premise of one person hiding, then the others searching for them and joining them in hiding is explained. The person chosen to hide is initially Vetinari but this is shouted down by the non-viper houses due to the fact that Vetinari never hides, he just runs away from the game. Vetinari says primly, ‘that is not true. You just can never find me.’

Eventually it is settled that the person to hide will be Ludo. He solemnly bows, whispers something to Downey then waits as everyone covers their eyes so he can commence his disappearing act.

‘Where is he?’ Vetinari hisses to Downey as searching commences.

‘No idea.’

‘We’re on the same team, Downey.’

‘I’m aware, and I would tell you Dog-Botherer, but I don’t know.’

‘What did he whisper to you?’

‘Told me to be nice. I am nice! I’m the nicest person I know.’

Vetinari stares at Downey. Downey smiles back a winning expression.

See, Vetinari thinks, this is the problem with Downey. He doesn’t take anything seriously. Even though this is a sports day and we’re supposed to be having fun and building team spirit or some such nonsense, it is still something to be taken seriously. Yet here is William Downey playing around as if it’s a lark. 

In the midst of his internal monologue on the Woes of Downey Creevy attaches himself to the two of them. Downey becomes sour immediately. A rapid change that could alter weather. 

Despite the storm cloud of Downey, Creevy remains. Vetinari admits to himself that he admires the young man’s tenacity, considering he is willingly subjecting himself to Downey’s ire. 

Vetinari can feel Downey’s restlessness. The itchiness the young man evidently feels being next to Creevy. There is a part of him that wonders what the true reason is for the dislike. He suspects it’s not something minor, no matter how breezily Downey waves it off. 

As they depart from the rest of the guild’s searching for Ludo Downey scoots to the other side of Vetinari which places a person between him and Creevy. At first Vetinari thinks this is an admirable act of restraint until he realizes it allows Downey to whisper insulting things about Creevy at a loud enough decibel range to be heard by Creevy yet places him far enough away so Creevy can’t retaliate.

Vetinari sighs.

‘Ludo said for you to be nice,’ he tries. ‘This isn’t being nice.’

‘I’m taking Ludo’s words to mean “be nice to our housemates” which just means you since I’m lovely to everyone else. I don’t think he meant I had to be nice to Spackleback.’

Vetinari points out that without any specifications upon the “niceness” Downey is expected to display it is safe to assume that Ludo wanted him to be nice to everyone. Downey laughs at him with a Nice Try Dog-Botherer attitude followed up with a ‘you don’t know Ludo if you think that.’ 

Vetinari looks over to Creevy and shrugs. Creevy sulks.

Although Vetinari feels camaraderie with anyone who is subjected to Downey’s harassment Creevy does tend to cling. And when he clings he grates. Currently, as they try and lose him, he is telling Vetinari about this girl he is love with who doesn’t seem to notice him. 

‘I’ve sent her letters but she’s never replied.’ Creevy laments. 

‘Uh huh,’ Vetinari replies. 

‘Then I sent her more letters, in case she didn’t get the first ones I sent.’ 

‘Right.’ 

‘I found out her work schedule so I could see her in person, you know, to make sure she’s all right since she never replied to my letters. I was concerned, maybe she was hurt. I don’t understand, Havelock.’ 

Vetinari internally winces at the use of his first name. He glances over to Downey who mouths ‘creep’ at him. It is beginning to dawn on Vetinari what Downey means. 

‘Has she uh ever indicated she was interested in talking to you?’ 

‘She gives me subtle signs,’ Creevy says. ‘So I know. Like when I go into her coffee shop she always laughs at my jokes and looks me in the eye and smiles but it’s a special smile so I know she means it for me.’ 

‘Are you going to tell him or shall I?’ Downey hisses into Vetinari’s ear. ‘Someone should tell the poor sod, for the girl’s sake if nothing else.’ 

‘Um,’ Vetinari says with great wit. ‘Creevy.’ 

‘Yes?’ 

‘I don’t think she’s that into you. If someone doesn’t reply to your letters that’s usually a sign.’ 

‘But she was so friendly when I visited.’ 

Downey sighs very loudly at this. Creevy glares at him. Declares that Downey wouldn’t know true love if it hit him in the face that indeed Downey probably doesn’t even know how to love, he’s such a cold and mean person. Vetinari feels the need to escape his current situation but can’t. To his left Downey just laughs which only infuriates Creevy more. 

‘Sure, Spackleback,’ Downey says. ‘Tell yourself that if it makes you happy since you’re life is clearly sad and miserable.’ 

‘Downey,’ Vetinari frowns. Downey ignores him. Vetinari gives a mildly apologetic look to Creevy. He is no Ludo, he can’t keep Downey’s meaner tendencies under wraps. 

As the game remains afoot Downey and Vetinari concoct a whispered plan in Klatchian to split up in order to lose Creevy. Once this is settled Downey leans over to Creevy who instinively moves backwards. 

‘You want to follow me or DB?’

Creevy looks between the two of them and quickly opts for the safer option.

 

 

Chuffed with having lost Creevy and Dog-Botherer Downey takes himself off in  a leisurely and meandering manner towards Ludo’s hiding spot. He stops from time to time to poke at recently erupted mushrooms and prod at a new specimen of lamb’s foot weed that has taken root in the park. He pulls out a notebook and marks details of where he saw it, when, appearance and other pertinent details. The mushrooms he sketches then recalls he has a game to win. 

On the far side of Hide Park sits a collection of mausoleums from when the great families of Ankh-Morpork owned the land that is now city park. There are only ten remaining and all have fallen into disrepair. Downey sits on one of the tombs and has a cheeky smoke as he counts the ways he hates half his Guild House.

Really, the only good ones are Ludo and Willis. Seb has his moments, but he’s clearly mad as a hatter and will eventually find the dickie birds then have to be inhumed. Then there’s Chuck who is all right but a bit thick; Battler has an annoying laugh; Farty is offensive all around from appearance to decorum to speech; Dog-botherer is obnoxiously difficult to get reactions out of – does the boy know how to laugh? Great question. Does he have feelings? Probably not. Is he even human? A mystery for the ages.

Downey thinks he deserves better than this with the exception of Ludo and Willis who are top notch. He’d be miserable if it weren’t for Ludo and Willis. Oh, and Jacob but he’s not in the Viper House so doesn’t count at the moment. 

Finishing his smoke he discards it in a crack in the grave. Ducking down increasingly narrow paths between tombs and memorial stones he finds a discreet and shadowy nook hidden by both a large memorial slab to some dead knight as well as a mulberry bush. The nook is composed of two walls of mausoleum’s that had collapsed against each other forming a small grotto or cave to hide it. It’s a tight fit but manageable and sliding between the two walls his finds a gently amused Ludo.

‘Took you long enough,’ he whispers.

‘I had to ditch Spackleback which meant leaving him with DB.’

‘Poor DB.’

‘For once I agree. No one should be subjected to a tête-à-tête with Spackleback.’ 

Ludo shifts. He complains that he should have chosen a sunnier spot as this one is damp and quickly becomes just this-side of uncomfortably cool. Downey joins him at the far end and looks around. It’s a fine space for the moment but as soon as a few large, sweaty lads pile in it’s going to get tight very quickly.

‘Ah, Ludovorum.’ Vetinari’s pale face appears at the entrance. ‘Downey.’

Downey is surpised, ‘you found us quickly.’

‘You’re a remarkably easy person to follow.’

‘What? Have you been stalking me DB? I’m flattered. I think.’

Vetinari pulls a face and mutters that Downey shouldn’t think so highly of himself. Turning to his side he slides in coming to rest next to Downey.

‘How did you get rid of Creevy?’ Ludo asks from around Downey.

‘Oh you know,’ Vetinari replies.

‘No, we don’t,’ Downey says.

‘He’ll be fine,’ Vetinari says in an approximation of assurance. Downey snorts, mutters that the creep had it coming, whatever it was DB did. He awkwardly pats DB’s shoulder, or tries to, but because of their cramped circumstances he ends up patting his chest.

Vetinari looks at Downey’s hand then up to the marble around them, the moss and the dirt. Downey, oblivious, rambles on about all the ways in which Creevy is a problem and someone should do something about it. At some point Ludo nudges him, murmurs that the goal of the game is to be quiet. Downey shrugs but settles into quietude. There is a plus to having more people pile in, it occurs to Downey. And that plus is body heat. Ludo wasn’t wrong, it is chilly so close to the ground with the damp and the shadows. Ludo has his hands shoved into his armpits. Downey looks over to DB who looks a bit blue but that could just be the light. 

 

 

The next person to find them is Willis who wanders past then backtracks and sticks his head in with much joy and enthusiasm. 

‘My friends! I’ve found you! Budge up Dog-Botherer I’m squeezing in.’ Willis enters with a bottle of wine. Where he got the bottle of wine is a mystery. His usually vibrant blond curls are slicked down and it’s only when he’s half plastered up to Vetinari does it become clear that at some point since the rugger match he fell in the lake.

Downey feels Vetinari shying away from Willis’ damp which means that he is pressing into Doweny. Downey grumbles and in turn shoves himself more into Ludo who complains that this is all a bit much and really Willis? Did you have to go for a swim? 

‘We’re going about this the wrong way,’ Downey says. Vetinari’s bony elbow digs into him. ‘I’m the largest so I should be at the bottom of this dog-pile, then Ludo, then Willis, the DB.’

‘Rearranging ourselves would be too noticeable,’ Ludo replies. ‘Anyway, you’ve done flying leaps on top of me without any concern in the past.’

‘I’m only concerned if someone tries to plank on top of us.’ Downey says. ‘That’d be too much.’

All four of them look up to the cramped space above them.

‘Gods,’ Ludo sighs. ‘It’s going to be Seb. I’d put money on it being Seb.’

It does indeed end up being Seb. 

 

 

By the time Seb finds the hidden members of his cohort Ludo is pressed flat against the back wall of the small nook with Downey’s shoulder in his face. Vetinari’s face is up against Downey’s and they’re trying not to make eye contact while Willis has carved out enough room so he can still take occasional swigs of wine, Chuck who is a large, ruddy brawling sort of lad, is crushed in taking up all the last amount of room save for the space above their heads. Which is when Seb arrives.

‘I’m going to plank!’ He announces.

Ludo wheezes, ‘please no.’

Downey tries to twist so he can shout over everyone’s heads that Seb had better not plank if Seb valued his life but instead ends up so he and Vetinari are chest to chest, face to face. 

Willis hollers, ‘yeah boy do it!’ Chuck jabs Willis’ side hissing that they’re supposed to be quiet.

Downey whispers, ‘I love Willis but gods I could kill him right now.’

Vetinari replies, ‘I’m closer.’

‘I’ve got a thruppence in my pocket.’

‘I’m pretty sure Willis is worth more than a thruppence.’

Willis, trying to twist to face them, bangs his head into Vetinari’s who accidentally hits Downey’s face with his own as a result. A series of curses and stifled laughter from Ludo emerge. Downey licks his lip which is sure is split and asks if it looks bad to which Vetinari says he looks no worse than usual. Unsure of how to take that Downey muttes that Dog-Botherer’s face is stupid.

‘You really like saying that about my face,’ Vetinari remarks.

‘Cause it’s true.’

Vetinari rolls his eyes. Downey shifts his weight from his right to left foot and carefully doesn’t look at Dog-botherer’s face. Vetinari returns the sentiment and concentrates on the patterns in the marble, the creeping of the moss and ivy, the occasional slosh of Willis taking a sip of wine, the argument between Seb and Chuck. Vetinari knows there are things to dig into here, such depths of cause and effect he could pick at like a scab. Downey’s breath is against his neck. His mouth pulled into a sneer. Scabs aren’t pretty things. Vetinari thinks that were he to dig he might not like what he finds. There is a chance it could be difficult.

A new voice joins the fray of Seb and Chuck’s arguing.

‘Found you all.’ 

It’s Jacob de l’Enfer, decidedly not of the Viper house. His elegant voice continues, ‘Seb planking is a poor life choice, please resist.’

Downey’s face, for a split second, shifts from sneer to warm smile. An expression he usually reserves only for Ludo and Willis. Vetinari catches the fleeting expression while he pulls away as they all stumble out of their hiding place. Jacob stands in pristine clothes with red hair caught in late-afternoon sun a half-smile on his face.

‘How’d you find us?’ Downey asks as he brushes himself off, runs his hands through his hair to put it into some order. Vetinari squints at Downey. This is a new facet of his person he’s never seen before.  

Jacob shrugs, ‘You’ve a specific brand of menthols that you smoke, Will. But before that I followed the mushrooms since I figured you’d be distracted by them–’

‘Never!’ 

‘Always. Then I smelled your menthols and after that Willis’ muddy footprints, and occasional feint sounds of complaining.’

Downey smiles warmly ‘well, can’t win them all I suppose.’ Then, in a sudden movement he spins to face Ludo. ‘We should go to the pub. It’s pub time.’ Spinning back to the group he spreads his hands, ‘who wants to go to the Beast—‘

‘We’re not going to the Beast,’ Ludo interjects with fervor. Downey looks to Jacob for support who points to Ludo with a face that says “what he said.” 

‘ _Fine._ Crown and Tiger?’

It’s agreed and Downey swings his arms over Ludo and Jacob’s shoulders. The others follow after in a menagerie of muddy and sun soaked lads. As they break out from the former graveyard Vetinari slows his pace. Slowing enough where they easily outpace him he changes direction towards the Guild. Trotting away from the rest of his house he glances back to see them and he swears Downey turns and watches him go. 


	8. A special gift for lying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An aberration! This one takes place during the Patricianship. I imagine this to be sometime after Night Watch. 
> 
> For anonymous: What is a (deadly poisonous plant?) doing in a freezer with vetinari/downey

It’s all because of this unnecessary paranoia of the commander. Downey thinks the man should see someone about that. Paranoia has its place but if you rest too long in that country it will be your undoing. On second thought, perhaps the commander ought to rest in his land of paranoia a while longer yet. If he went fully mad and had to be locked up it’d one less nuisance for Downey to deal with and he deals with a great many nuisances.

‘For the last time, your grace,’ he smiles at the commander’s scowl. ‘We had nothing to do with the death of this unfortunate fellow.’

‘He was found poisoned, with a cross-bow bolt through his neck, along with signs of asphyxiation.’

‘Dear me.’

‘The poison has been found to be oleander.’

Downey raises eyebrows. He suggests the wife or family members, in case the commander needs help.

‘She has an alibi.’

‘Does he have siblings? Cousins? Disgruntled household staff?’

‘Are you telling me how to do my job?’ Vimes snarls.

‘Since you’re here, and you know we do not inhume without leaving a receipt, I can only assume you are at your wits ends. I was attempting to help you brain storm. I often have my students do such activities when they’re planning projects. Have you tried making a mind map? I’ve a worksheet for it somewhere. Dr. Mericet can—‘

‘No.’

‘No mind-map? Or no you haven’t investigated his relatives and staff?’

Vimes fumes at him then stalks off after one of his officers. Downey watches for a long minute then idly turns to Mericet, ‘we’ve stashed the unofficial guild log-books?’

‘I did it myself.’

‘Excellent.’

Downey allows the Watch a five minute grace period to make their usual mess before trailing after them. He finds the lab rooms little touched but the weapons development wing thoroughly gone through. He tsks as he rights a chair.

‘I will want receipts for everything broken,’ he says.

Vimes pretends not to hear him.

‘And a full log of everything taken in evidence.’

The commander continues his silent smoking.

‘There’s also no smoking in classrooms.’

Vimes turns around in, slow measured pace. He takes his cigar and with pointed look, snubs it out in an empty mug left on a desk. Downey beams at him. This appears to sour the commander’s mood more. Downey beams more.

From down the hall towards the supplies rooms an officer calls for Vimes. Both the commander and Downey head in the direction of the voice.

It is deep in the cold room, where perishables are kept for research, where a blonde officer stands beside a collection of oleander clippings.

‘This is the plant, sir.’ The officer says.

‘Please explain why you have oleander clippings in this uh-‘ Vimes looks around for a name.

‘Cold storage,’ Downey supplies. He stares at the two officers and wonders at their intelligence level. Dog-botherer is becoming soft, he thinks, if he allows, out of some misguided affection, these two to continue as shining examples of Ankh-Morpork’s detective abilities.  

‘Your lordship?’ Vimes prompts.

Downey blinks. ‘This is the Assassins’ Guild,’ he clarifies.

‘Yes I am aware.’

Downey continues to stare at Vimes. ‘We inhume people for money.’

‘Yes.’ Vimes glares. ‘I am aware of that, too.’

‘Why do  _you_ think we have oleander in cold storage? We have all sorts of poisons. You’re standing next to jimson weed and foxglove.’

‘Bag it,’ Vimes instructs the officer. ‘I’m taking it in evidence.’

Downey shrugs. Vimes wags a finger under his nose threatening that if he finds so much as  _hint_ of Downey or any of his ilk being involved in this murder he will bring the fires of the gods down on the guild.

Patting Vimes’ cheek Downey purrs, ‘I’m sure you will, your grace.’

Vimes pulls back, visibly uncomfortable and evidently deeply suspicious.

‘I don’t coat my hands in poison, you know.’

The suspicion grows deeper. Downey smiles at him, it’s not a very pretty expression.

 

 

 

Night brings a cooling off of both tensions between the guild and the Watch and temperatures on the unseasonably warm autumn day. Downey sits with a brandy and a stack of term papers. A shift in the office equilibrium. It feel as if a weight has been placed in a corner, the far one to be exact, by a convenient hidden panel.

Alsace, useless dog, rolls over and half-heartedly woofs.

‘It’s fine,’ Downey says without looking up.

‘You put the commander in a decidedly poor mood,’ a soft voice says from the corner.

Downey sits back in his chair, pulling glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘He put me in a fouler one I can assure you.’

‘He is convinced you were, ah, “playing games”.’

Vetinari materializes as if smoke.

‘Me? Playing games? I’d never.’

Vetinari tilts his head to the side, goes ‘hmm’ in an unconvinced tone, then crosses over to a spare chair near Downey’s desk. Removing a stack of papers from it he drags it so he is seated opposite Downey.

Downey points at Vetinari with his glasses, ‘they ransacked my classrooms.’

‘I believe they left receipts.’

That isn’t the point. Downey explains how that isn’t he point. He explains for fifteen minutes then divots into ten minutes on how the Watch was a mistake then manages to talk himself around to acknowledging the role of law enforcement in a civilized society but that doesn’t mean he has to like them.

Being one of life’s natural listeners Vetinari listens with great patience.

‘Anyway,’ Downey finishes up. ‘How are you?’

‘A great deal more informed than I was previously about your views on law enforcement in a civilized society.’

‘Not that I’d call Ankh-Morpork particularly civilized.’

‘Hm, I suppose not.’ Vetinari steeples his fingers and presses lips against them in thought. ‘I was thinking about plants today.’

Downey perks up.

‘Namely the one you gifted me a few Hogswatches ago.’

‘Theresa.’

‘Yes.’

‘She’s perfect.’

‘I suppose.’

‘No she is. It’s a term – never mind. Continue.’

Vetinari blinks at Downey. Downey admires the mildly perplexed look with great affection. Vetinari regains his composure and explains his thoughts on Theresa namely, it’s an oleander plant if he isn’t much mistaken (he’s not mistaken) and that just seems rather coincidental all things considered.

‘Theresa’s never been used for inhumation purposes.’ Downey clarifies.

‘Indeed.’

‘I’d never gift the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork a murder plant.’

‘But would you gift Dog-botherer one?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

Vetinari snorts. Looks up the ceiling for a moment then asks, ‘so which one was it that you gave this plant to?’

With a smile Downey stands and goes around the desk to perch at the edge directly in front of Vetinari. Leaning over he kisses the patrician chastely before murmuring against him, ‘Dog-botherer of course. I’m honoured you keep it on your desk though.’

Vetinari sits back explaining that it’s a rather ominous looking plant. It puts people on edge which pleases him mightily. Downey preens.

A commotion in the hall interrupts. Downey is around the other side of the desk and in his chair faster than a blink. The door to his office bangs open and a harried looking head student spills out something about the Watch and the cold storage and a body and it isn’t his fault he promises and he is so sorry and oh gods that’s the Patrician.

‘Knock and wait to be called in next time, Mr. Crowden.’ Downey intones in a bored voice.

‘Oh gods yes sir, sorry sir, none of this will ever happen again I promise sir.’ He glances at Vetinari with a worried expression. ‘Your lordship.’

Downey slowly neatens his papers then stands with a mildly annoyed sigh.

‘Very well, show me to the debacle that has clearly unfolded.’ To Vetinari, ‘I won’t be a moment, your lordship.’

Vetinari with evident curiosity peaked replies, ‘oh don’t mind me,’ as he stands to follow. Downey’s face says very clearly _, I do mind._  Vetinari cheerily ignores him.

 

 

 

The cold storage is full of shouting which Downey fears will disturb both students and plants. Mr. Crowden, head student of the Viper House, hangs back and watches with trepidation as Downey and Vetinari enter the darkened rooms.

‘There is a body here now!’ A voice hisses.

‘Indeed,’ Dr. Mericet calmly replies. ‘You’ve pointed this out three times now, captain.’

‘A dead body.’

Downey comes to the back room to find a body laid out on the table, Dr. Mericet looking for all the world like he is discussing the weather, and the blonde officer from before. Apparently a captain.

‘Can I be of assistance?’ Downey interrupts.

The captain looks to him then she catches sight of Vetinari. She stops, her mouth opening and closing a few times.

Downey points to Vetinari, ‘Guild Provost. Didn’t you know? Anyway, how can I help you?’

The captain indicates the body, ‘could you explain this, your lordship?’

Downey appraises the body, ‘male, late forties, died from a head wound to the left temporal lobe, dead for no more than forty-eight hours I would say, Captain—‘

‘Angua.’

‘Captain Angua.’

‘We’ve been introduced before,’ she states.

‘Have we? My.’

‘Multiple times, your lordship.’

‘That’s nice.’

Uncertain of how to respond to Downey’s polite up-beat earnestness she returns to the matter at hand.

‘Um, may I ask how the body got here?’

Downey looks to Mericet who says that it was attained in an entirely legal manner and he can give her the receipts if she would like. Angua says she is not sure how a murdered dead body can be attained  _legally_.

‘Ah,’ Downey nods sagely. ‘Some kind souls dedicate the bodies of those they had inhumed to science. It’s for the greater good, you know. Allows future generations of assassins to have firsthand experience learning human anatomy and as you know, captain, anatomy is very important. It can mean all the difference between quick and slow death. By the by, how did you get in?’

‘I heard a disturbance,’ Angua replies smoothly. ‘It’s my job to inspect disturbances.’

Downey and Mericet stare at her with even, polite smiles. Vetinari, apparently disinterested, has taken himself off to inspect other parts of the cold storage. Angua looks between the two assassins, the back of the patrician, and decides that this is perhaps the correct time to leave.

‘I’ll be going then,’ she says. ‘Since everything is clearly under control.’

‘Thank you for stopping by,’ Mericet says as he leads the way out of the cold storage to the hall and stairs back up to the ground floor. ‘It’s most kind of you to check on us.’

‘Right,’ she says. ‘Oh for my report, can I have a copy of the inhumation receipt?’

‘Of course,’ Downey replies. ‘Mr. Crowden here will run it over to the Watch house in the morning.’

Angua looks at all of the mild faces that bleed almost into impassive. This is far above her pay grade and so she touches her helmet and takes herself off.

‘How’d she get in?’ Downey snarls once the main door is closed.

‘Oh I dare say she was _sniffing_  around,’ Vetinari says amiably. ‘It’s her job, after all.’

‘Well she can sniff elsewhere.’

‘Indeed.’

 

 

 

Back in the office and with the evening returning to the calm it had before the brief interruption Downey drags Vetinari through the corner panel door, down a narrow, wood panelled passageway to the room he keeps at the guild.

‘So,’ Vetinari asks as Downey pulls him down into the bed. ‘Two illicit inhumations in two days? Don’t make me send my auditors on you.’

‘Oh,’ Downey is smug. ‘Try your worst. I’ve dealt with some nasty ones during my tenure. I ever tell you about the time we were hired to inhume the Hogfather?’

Vetinari snorts, kisses Downey while saying, ‘no, I don’t believe you have. But please, regale me with the mad misadventures of your time as master of the Assassins’ Guild. I believe my clerks only catch a quarter of it.’

‘Not even.’


	9. to love what is orderly and beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another aberation of 50-something Downey and Vetinari. I might have to update the description of this drabble collection if this continues. 
> 
> For anon: hi i love your writing, especially downey/vetinari. there's a plato quote (the republic 3.403a) that always makes me think of D/V. could you use your magic writing skills to make something of it? the quote is 'to love rightly is to love what is orderly and beautiful in an educated and disciplined way' thank you!!!

Downey does not consider himself a particularly good lover in the sense of participating in relationships with ease and refinement. He’s fine in the bedroom department, probably better there than in the emotional vulnerability department. Vacillating between cool, distant, collected and ardently in love I shall write you a letter a day tends to cause difficulties depending on who one is attempting to woo. By turns he is eager and terrified. Wanting to love rightly but horrified of being hurt by someone who would know exactly how to twist the knife. Which ribs are most vulnerable. Downey feels like his head is on fire much of the time, more so when affection and love are involved. It exhausts.

To make such matters worse, historically Downey only really fucked with barely contained messes. Preferably those who were genteel and artistic and prone to languidly lying around in beautiful clothing. Walking stereotypes of gentlemanly decadence. Men and women who could only be described as Bad Decisions. He likedBad Decisions because Bad Decisions didn’t require deep love. They didn’t require fear or adoration (a close companion of fear) or loss because there was nothing to lose. There was safety in contained self-destruction that could be easily put right with a fortnight of sobriety and a few hot baths.

And in recent years there hadn’t really been anything or anyone because of the guild and his work and his students and city politics to keep him busy and safe from himself. It’s been years since he’s done much more than idly flirt with someone else’s wife for the laugh of it.  

What is all of this tending towards? The patrician of Ankh-Morpork wishes to have dinner. A  _date_ sort of dinner, if Downey isn’t mistaken.

Downey prods the uncertainty of his feelings about this. It’s an amorphous, un-named creature that exists between them. That has always existed between them. There are some people born into your life that you will always have a connection with even when you both wish to have nothing to do with one another. Downey once read a monograph on magnets and felt that it was applicable.

He’s fifty-five, Vetinari is fifty-three. They’re both too old for dinners.

But Vetinari is dark mountain water compared to his usual choices. He is a stoic, an aesthete, Spartan. Downey reasons that it would be difficult to lose oneself in a piece of cold marble. Everything about the patrician extinguishes – mountain water; marble; steel; gears; ice; snow; late autumn days; wet cobblestones; iron hinges.

He reasons there is very little there that he would be able to adore. In that, there is safety.

And he is bored.

And it would possibly be interesting.

And it would end a bet he made with Ludo three decades ago. Back when Vetinari was Dog-botherer and the patrician was Snapcase and Downey was a new teacher at the guild and the world was such a different place. A completely different land from where they are now.

He decides to accept. He relays this to the patrician at the end of a weekly guild update (inhumation numbers up; student application rates the same; no I have no idea why you think we need to be audited we report all numbers relating to guild income accurately I assure in fact I oversee it I don’t see why that makes you more suspicious). The patrician is suitably pleased and surprised. Downey isn’t sure how to respond to that so just says, ‘good. Um I’m free Wednesday or Friday.’

‘Wednesday then. Is eight agreeable?’

‘Eight is fine.’

Vetinari nods, takes up papers and says, ‘very well. Shall we go to that one Agatean restaurant?’

‘Um, you’ll have to be more specific.’

‘The one riverside.’

‘Um-‘

‘There’s more than one riverside now I take it. Ah, it was open years ago. Perhaps it’s closed.’

Downey squints at Vetinari and clicks through restaurants he knows that have been open since before Vetinari’s ascension to the patricianship. He lands on a possibility, ‘you mean the one I dragged you to after the food poisoning incident?’

Vetinari nods curtly.

‘Sure, I think it’s still open.’

‘Excellent.’

‘I won’t make them sing you happy birthday this time.’

Vetinari’s expression becomes cool, ‘I should hope not.’

Downey grins in a cheeky manner, ‘No theatre this time, either.’

‘Spare us all from that poor life choice.’

‘I think enjoyed it, if I remember correctly.’

Vetinari is prim, ‘there’s no accounting for taste I suppose.’

Unsure of where to go in the conversation from this point Downey puts his hat on and says that he looks forward to it. Eight, Wednesday, the Mazz. He’ll book them a table.

 

 

Wednesday and they both turn up looking respectably well dressed and with papers so as to pretend to everyone it’s a business dinner. The Mazz is situated above the Ankh and this early spring evening the cool air means that the fog isn’t too heavy resulting in a fine view of the river, the quay-side, boats rocking lazily in their slips. Across the river to one side is the darkness of the shades, the glimmer of opera house and palace lights to the other.

The Mazz has not updated its décor since their first visit thirty-odd years ago and the faded attempts at Agatean glamour with its ivory and cherry wood decorated walls, its patterned seat covering full of blossoms and herons, dim lights, lends a nostalgic air to the evening.

The food is still good.

Downey is pleasantly surprised by this since he suspects it’s gone through a few ownership turnovers since it opened.

‘I remember there was an illegal betting ring downstairs for a time,’ he says. ‘I think Willis and I went for a laugh.’

‘Really? This seems rather upscale for such an operation – or was rather upscale at the time.’

‘I think that’s half the reasoning for it. No one would suspect. Anyway, the owner was cleaning up some family money via the restaurant. But it actually turned out to be popular enough that it’s stayed around.’

Vetinari is curious – how does Downey know this? Did Downey knows this years ago when they first went? How did he and Willis and Ludo always manage to end up in quasi-illegal dives?

Downey gently shrugs through the questions. He heard it on the grape vine, the way one did back in Snapcase’s time. The way one heard about all sorts of things. That necessary whisper network set up to keep the more underground guilds safe and people who were associated with people the patrician hated. So, all assassins.

‘I wasn’t part of this,’ Vetinari says with a frown.

‘Sure you were. Ludo occasionally told you things.’

‘Oh?’

‘Absolutely – but it wasn’t always necessary really. You didn’t go out to places the patrician’s men were likely to raid so therefore didn’t need to stay up on that as much as the rest of us. Crown and Tiger was raided regularly, Green Lounge every once in a while, Cloak and Dagger weekly, The Neon Light for a time was a hot spot, Green Tea over by the east gate, uh that one underground speak easy The Pearl which operated out of several locations was a regular target.’

Vetinari shakes his head, he had heard of most of these places but Downey is correct, he rarely ever went. Indeed, there are several he’d never stepped foot in. ‘I do remember going to the Green Lounge for a time.’

‘Popular spot mostly because it was discreet and the beer was cheap.’

‘It was disgusting.’

‘Oh yes,’ Downey nods, ‘that was part of the charm I believe.’

Vetinari smiles at that. Charm indeed. It was a dive. He would hate to see the couches in clear light. He is sure everything was beer and smoke stained to an unhealthy degree. Downey doesn’t dispute this. He continues to insist that when you’re twenty that’s part of it. Age brings a lower tolerance for unhealthy air and bad alcohol.

Dinner plates are removed. Both order a brandy and shuffle papers around for the look of the thing.

Downey, becoming aware of how much of the speaking he is doing, searches around for something to discuss that isn’t work related. He lands on books. He recalls Vetinari had a soft spot for bad yellow-back penny dreadfuls. He asks about them. Vetinari is amused but doesn’t go on at length about it. Downey wants to gently flick his forehead – come on, I’m trying to make this work, give me something to work off of.

Of course Vetinari is difficult to parse, to open up and dissect. He is an orderly and contained man which Downey appreciates. He likes order. He likes containment and control, most especially because he feels like he has little of it. What he presents to the world, a quiet, neat, orderly gentlemanly sort of man, is a well-rehearsed and difficult to maintain mask. But it is one that he must wear. He is master of the Assassins’ Guild, he is a teacher, a tutor, a pillar of society. There are expectations and by the gods he will meet every one of them.

He still wishes he could take a week off and be a drunk, smokey mess. One day, when he retires. If he ever retires. Assassins tend not to, as a general rule.

All this said, there is a part of him that will always envy Vetinari. Envy that he is the personification of Downey’s butterfly collection. So beautiful and neat.

‘May I ask why,’ Downey asks. They’re having a second brandy. The restaurant is quiet now and Downey is pondering if he could convince Vetinari to go somewhere else after they eventually leave.

‘Why?’

‘Why,’ Downey motions to the two of them and the restaurant.

‘Ah.’

‘Ah,’ Downey repeats. Vetinari gives him a look and he smiles charmingly. An expression of something like affection runs across Vetinari’s face.

‘I thought it might be worth a try.’

‘I see.’

‘I have a matrix I apply to possibilities.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘You ticked off most of the boxes.’ Vetinari says this in a complimentary manner.

Downey nods. He both wants to and doesn’t want to know what the boxes are.

‘That’s quite…disciplined,’ Downey says after a moment of thought. ‘How very Marcus Aurelianus of you.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I’m not sure how I feel about that.’

Vetinari looks mildly perplexed. What isn’t there to understand? It makes perfect sense to apply a stringent set of rules to something that could become complicated in a certain set of extenuating circumstances. If one is to do this correctly then it is right to love, if one may eventually call it that, what is orderly and beautiful in an educated and disciplined way.

Downey laughs. Vetinari blinks at him. He laughs again. Gods of course this is Vetinari’s  _modus operendi_. Of course this is his approach to whatever path it is they’re going down. Of course it is about order and education and discipline. That doesn’t shock him so much as amuse him. He knows Vetinari, has known him for forty years. This is perhaps one of the most Vetinari-ish moments he has experienced. He wishes for more of them. Despite their cold manner, they are endearing. It’s a cool glass of water to how his affairs have operated in the past (without much thought, without much control, without much feeling).

Funny, how this evokes more tenderness in him than any compilation of messy letters he has received from past lovers.

‘You know I’m not very orderly,’ Downey clarifies after they have had time enough for rumination.

Vetinari frowns, ‘you are. In your own way. The guild is functioning smoothly.’

‘Yes, I was speaking more of my personal life. My head is not an orderly place.’

‘No,’ a slight smile. ‘I never thought it was.’

‘So therefore your statement of it being right to love what is orderly can’t apply to me.’

Vetinari finishes his brandy and looks at Downey in a very steady manner. It is a different gaze from the one used in the Oblong Office which is meant to prompt a confessional style of speaking. This one is mild contemplation, perhaps affection. He says at length that he believes Downey underestimates himself in this department. Regardless, the matrix supports this decision. Downey shrugs. Fine, if that is Vetinari’s feelings on the matter. He is happy to see what happens.

 

 

Leaving the restaurant they decide to walk for a time as the night isn’t too smoggy.

‘How does your leg hold up?’ Downey asks as they linger over the bridge between Small Dogs and the main boulevard back to both guild and palace.

‘It has its moments.’

‘But it’s fine tonight?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Good. Excellent.’

They lapse into silence. Bells toll the hour for eleven and as they’re near enough Downey asks if Vetinari would like a night cap. He adds that there are dogs to pay attention to as he believes that would be an added incentive for the patrician to come along back to the guild. Vetinari considers the offer before agreeing saying that he has always admired Downey’s dogs from a distance. They are large but very well trained.

‘And useless,’ Downey adds with affection. ‘Absolutely useless. Would show any intruder right to the valuables.’

‘They sound friendly.’

‘They are. Terrible guard dogs and not at all what an assassin should have.’

 

 

Alsace and Harold are excited, as they always are, when Downey enters his rooms and become doubly excited when they see there is another person with him. More people to pay attention to them the better. Vetinari takes a seat by the fireplace while Downey makes them a drink. Harold positions himself immediately beside Vetinari while Alsace runs back and forth between the drinks table and the fireplace.

‘I never realized how big this dog is,’ Vetinari says while petting Harold’s head.

‘Taller than me if he stands up on his hind legs. By easily a head.’

‘Gods.’

Harold looks up at him with clear affection.

‘He likes you. Granted he likes everyone.’

Downey hands Vetinari his drink and takes a seat opposite him.

‘Was it solely the matrix that guided any decision made?’ Downey asks. Vetinari shakes his head, oh no there were other things taken into account. He waxes on about his personal philosophy of how one should go about things such as relationships when holding a position of considerable power. He has many views on it and they almost tumble out – or if Vetinari was anyone other than Vetinari they would be tumbling. He opines. Downey listens. He likes Vetinari’s voice, it is low and soft.

‘So in the end,’ Vetinari says. ‘It makes the most logical sense.’

It makes no logical sense, Downey doesn’t point out. You’ve applied logic after the fact. This realization appeals to him but he doesn’t wish to disturb Vetinari’s contentment so just says he is flattered. And he is. He never really considered himself someone a man like Vetinari would be remotely interested in – their occasionally fraught childhood aside. It is a flattering thing to be wanted by someone who does very little wanting in his life. And does Downey want Vetinari in return? He isn’t sure. He thinks perhaps yes. Very much it is a perhaps yes.

The conversation turns from the personal to the social in that they end night gossiping about Lord Venturi’s latest affair and the drama it has brought to the Ankh-Morpork social scene. Though Vetinari does not call it gossiping, he says they are engaging in polite exchange of information pertinent to better engaging in the social climate of the city.

‘So, gossiping.’ Downey clarifies. ‘We’re gossiping. I love gossiping. It’s a favourite past time of mine and Mericet’s.’

‘I’m hardly going to dignify that with a response.’

‘Very well, if you insist.’

 

 

At midnight Vetinari takes his leave asking at the door if Downey would perhaps be interested in another evening to be conducted in a similar manner. Downey, feeling cheeky and bold, replies, ‘yes I’ll go on another date with you.’

Vetinari, pleased, uncertain, uncertain at how pleased and uncertain he is, says with great wit and grace, ‘um, good. Yes. Excellent.’

As they are alone and awkwardly staring at each other Downey asks, ‘so, do I get a kiss?’

Vetinari blinks. Downey grins and goes to turn away but Vetinari replies that as it is traditional he believes it in order. Downey wants to laugh. He wants to tell Vetinari that he is ridiculous but in such a manner as to make his chest tight. Instead, he leans in, cups one side of the patrician’s face and kisses him. It’s uncertain and shy and strange but could have been worse.

‘So,’ Downey says to cover up his awkwardness, ‘next week we’re going to see a bad operetta right?’

‘Gods,’ Vetinari scoffs. ‘I’m never letting you plan anything.’

‘I’d be so good at it!’

Vetinari rolls his eyes. They stand for a moment longer together between dark hallway that leads out to a discreet side entrance to the guild and the warm light of Downey’s rooms. Downey says that he’d better go, and Vetinari says oh yes him too he had better be off. Work to do. They both have work and early mornings and meetings and Downey says one minute and kisses him again because he decides that if they’re going to do this they had better do it properly. He’s never done this properly before and he suspects Vetinari hasn’t either and so they might as well try – in for a penny, in for a pound.

Vetinari leaves after inquiring about next Thursday or Friday and Downey saying Thursday is probably best. Downey watches him go and stands with the door open until he hears the one leading to the outside world open and close. He continues to stand, staring where Vetinari had been only moments before then pulls himself back into the present, closes the door, collects one of Marcus Aurelianus’ books and retires to bed.  


	10. Emerging from Humble Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for both Ryu_Reikai_Akuma and ameliacarrollpetrichor who both wanted Jealous Downey (or Vetinari).
> 
> I have no idea if this is what you were after. Them being dumb about each other might appear again in the future.

It’s always the throwing of things. Perhaps not every day but since his arrival at the guild Vetinari has been pelted with various and sundry objects whenever Downey felt the need to express his presence. This was usually followed by an “eyyup Dog-Botherer.” Or some equivalent. The intellectual level of the interaction depended upon age in the beginning, twelve year olds not being notoriously bright as Downey was two years Vetinari’s senior, then later, it would depend upon his energy level, how committed he was to being a nuisance or how intense the hangover.

But this has temporarily ceased. Vetinari is cautiously relieved for it means that he can get through a month without having to deal with Downey’s obnoxious presence. What has replaced it though? Staring.

Perhaps it’s because it’s Hogswatch break, Vetinari reasons. There’s only a handful of students at the guild over these two weeks and therefore Downey has less of an audience to perform in front of. Or, perhaps it’s because he’s finally growing up. Being one and twenty must mean something surely. Vetinari considers himself immensely more mature than Downey, and always has been. Even though he’s a mere nineteen and only having taken the black the year previous he believes himself to be miles ahead of the other boy.

Young man, now, he supposes. They’re both young men. Young gentlemen, as teachers usually say in a disparaging tone.

The Guild library is laid out with a main body of the library, the nave if you will, is lined on either side with shelves then in the centre are large tables for students to occupy. The first floor is split so you are either on the east or west side with both affording a view of each other and the ground floor tables. Vaulted ceilings and large windows make for an airy and peaceful environment. It is, perhaps too predictably, Vetinari’s favourite place in the Guild. He sits currently on the west side, first floor, working through notes on how best to approach the methodology for next term’s research project when he becomes aware that some else is nearby.

He looks up then around and sat across from him, on the east side, is Downey. Sitting is perhaps too strong a word, lounging with books would be more accurate. When their eyes meet Downey’s face contorts into something Vetinari has never seen before and he twists in his chair and pulls up a book.

Vetinari thinks that for someone eternally dull-witted Downey has his mysterious moments. Vetinari watches as Downey reads with great diligence, not looking up again until Vetinari bows his head over his notes. With head still bowed Vetinari glances over and finds Downey pulling a similar move. They both look back to their work.

With great concentration Vetinari manages to finish his outline and a few thoughts on where best to begin. Having gone past three he decides to see if any of the kitchen staff will take pity on him and give him a late lunch or an early tea, whichever is easiest.

Getting up he finally allows himself to look over again to Downey and finds him still reading, though a stack of papers have appeared so apparently real work is happening. Packed up and walking down to the ground floor Vetinari glances back one last time and finds Downey watching him. When they meet each other’s eyes this time there’s no awkward scurrying back to work.

‘What do you want?’ Vetinari asks. They’re alone, therefore no need to keep one’s voice to a whisper.

‘What are you on about?’ Downey replies.

‘Just tell me what you want.’

‘Why do you think I want something, Dog-Botherer? Why do you think I’d want anything from you?’

If Vetinari isn’t mistaken, Downey is blushing. Strange, strange lad.

Vetinari shrugs then decants from the library.

 

 

The next iteration of this strange and unaccountable change in Downey comes the day after Hogswatch when Downey appears to have a strange sort of silent argument with himself in the common room then approaches Vetinari very slowly and says, ‘um.’

‘What, Downey?’ Vetinari asks from over his book.

Once again, the universe has conspired for them to be alone. Downey appears to take some heart in that.

‘I’ve um got this,’ he holds out a bag of chocolate coins. ‘Um, you want to gamble for them?’

Vetinari stares at the bag. A few informational notes about Downey’s heritage ticks through his head.

‘With you?’ Vetinari asks.

‘No, with the King of Lancre.’

‘I’d rather not.’

Downey scowls, ‘Right, fine.’ He stalks off.

Vetinari tries to return to his book but finds that it isn’t as entertaining as it had been when he began. He wants to reinvest in the main character who is currently attempting to convince her sister to do away with her philandering husband but cannot. He turns around the recent developments in Downey’s behaviour which dated back perhaps a month or so. It hasn’t been long.

He wishes Madam were in Ankh-Morpork for she could then inform him what all of Downey’s shifts in behaviour mean. Learning how people tick and how to leverage that to his advantage is a skill he is still developing. Though Downey has, until recently, been the most simple to manipulate as he was never a deep or complicated river to navigate.

Rivers do change course. Vetinari gets up and goes up to the dorms and knocks on Downey’s door.

Downey opens it, ‘what? Oh.’ Perhaps his expression uncertain? Vetinari believes there is something of a conflict written across it but he isn’t sure what that means.

‘I changed my mind.’

Downey sucks on his bottom lip. It’s not an attractive look. ‘I already have people playing.’

‘Oh.’

‘Who is it?’ A voice from inside asks. Vetinari recognizes it as Jacob de l’Enfer. Another voice, that of Willis, asks a similar question.

Downey, over his shoulder, ‘Dog-Botherer.’

Vetinari’s desire to continue the impromptu socializing vanishes. Downey, when speaking to Jacob, becomes another person. It is a transformation to watch.

Jacob is saying, ‘let him join us. You haven’t explained the rules yet.’

‘Oh DB would know them,’ Downey says.

‘Would he?’ Jacob appears behind Downey with curiosity. Vetinari smiles, a brittle thing. ‘I didn’t know that.’

Downey is pure charm in his reply. It is a performance and Vetinari feels like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be seeing. Then Downey’s attention is back on him and Jacob has retreated and it’s back to the two of them. The way it’s been since they were ten and twelve.

‘I guess you can join,’ Downey says whose eyes are like black forests and his hair a rusty brown. There is light behind him so his face his shadowed.

Vetinari shakes his head. He bows out. He doesn’t want whatever strange, unaccountable olive branch it is that Downey is offering. Or trying to offer. Mostly, he isn’t sure he wants to see him talking to Jacob. He slinks back to the common room, pours himself a whiskey, and does his best to ignore whatever it is that just happened.

 

*******

 

Really, things are a tragedy. Downey has decided this as he prowls around the mostly-empty guild. Life is trouble. That is going to go on the plaque his ashes will be hid behind after he dies.

Here lies William (maybe spelled Guillaume or Gulielmus or Willym he hasn’t decided which one has the best colour yet) Downey, Assassin. Let it be known to all that Life is Trouble.

He feels such guilt and such shame. These are not emotions he is overly familiar with so doesn’t know what to do with them. As this is the issue he puts them in a box and spends much of the first week of break drinking with Willis.

What is the trouble that he laments over? It occurred to him, one foul early Ember day, that Dog-Botherer has a nice profile. That was the unfortunate slope that he has since found himself sliding down. It’s only nice, he informs himself, because Dog-Botherer has finally managed to grow into his nose which was always unfortunately large.

No longer gangly with too many limbs it seems that Dog-Botherer has gained in height and has filled out. All while Downey wasn’t paying attention and really, who is the scag to do something like that to him?

He laments about this to Willis. ‘Willis.’

‘What?’

‘Why must I go and find someone attractive whom I shouldn’t?’

They’re in Willis’ room with a bottle of wine and chocolate bark. Downey’s family are not the sort to celebrate Hogswatch and so he never bothers to go home during the holidays. Willis’ reason for staying changes every year but Downey has distilled it down to: I live with my angry grandfather and do not wish to return unto him unless I must.

Willis nods sagely. ‘I’ve had that happen. I was seeing Clarissa then went and fancied her cousin. It was a mistake.’

‘Yes,’ Downey points with his wine glass. ‘That’s exactly it. There’s this, uh, lass who I might be going with. The path we’re on is going swimmingly enough and I’m pretty sure she’s keen but there’s this other person who I’ve never noticed before but now all I do is stare whenever they’re around.’

‘Right,’ Willis pours them both more wine. ‘So what you need to do is figure out which one you prefer.’

‘Um, the one that it could kick off with in the near future. I think the other one is mostly obnoxious.’

‘All right, so you just need to remember that she’s annoying. I had to do that with Clarissa’s cousin. I had to remind myself that we never have anything to talk about and really, she’s very dull. She’s just got pretty hair and a cute face.’

‘That’s the problem,’ Downey agrees. ‘Faces. Or profiles in this case.’

Willis laughs, ‘you like the weirdest things, Will.’

‘This, uh, lass with the profile is deeply annoying though.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘She thinks she’s so smart, better than the rest of us, somehow superior. Condescending. Rude.’

‘Is she smart?’

‘Oh,’ Downey nods with disinterest. ‘Terribly. Probably the smartest person I know other than Ludo. I don’t really care about that. It’s the blase attitude. She doesn’t pay any attention to me.’

Willis begins peering at Downey then says, very slowly, ‘I think you like this girl a good deal.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘What’s her name?’

Downey becomes prim. He says he doesn’t kiss and tell. Or, in this case, find-a-profile-nice-to-look-at and tell. He adds, ‘anyway, she doesn’t pay any attention to anyone–’

‘So no competition!’ Willis crows.

‘That’s not the issue here, Willis. The issue is that I do not wish to be interested in her at all because it makes me feel guilty because I’m already half down the garden path with this other person who is fabulous in all ways. An absolute brick. Why they’re interested in me is a mystery.’

Willis’ wisdom most often comes out in wine soaked moments. They’re opening a second bottle and Downey is suggesting that maybe they eat something other than chocolate with cranberries stuck in it.

‘I think you should maybe try and get to know the other girl. The smart one. Then see which route you’d like to go. At the moment you’re working with only half the information,’ Willis says. ‘I can’t really be of any more use since you’re so tightfisted with names.’

Downey waves him off. This isn’t the time for that. This is the time to lament how the universe is cruel and has decided to target him unfairly. He was going along very nicely, thank you, everything was in its proper place until now.

‘I had everything ordered,’ Downey complains. ‘Now it’s not. Well,’ complaint becomes frustrated resignation. ‘Whatever. It’ll pass. I’m sure nothing’ll come of it.’

Willis agrees in his way which is to say he is suspicious and unconvinced but happy to let it drop. They finish the second bottle then go in search of food.

 

 

Dog-Botherer is across from him in the common room. Downey hates that Dog-Botherer is across from him. Yet he wishes DB would pay him even the slightest bit of attention. Why is DB nice to creeps like Creevey? And that other strange fellow Flanagan. It makes little sense, they have nothing to offer and aren’t at all remotely interesting people. Downey had been lab partners for a year with Flanagan. It had been a decidedly painful experience.

DB at least is interesting. At least judging by the reading materials he carries around. But DB doesn’t notice him unless he’s chucking something at the lad or insulting him and this eats him up. Indeed, DB once went so far as to say that Downey is not a nice person. Downey disagrees - he’s the nicest person he knows! Other than Ludo. And Jacob.

There’s the rub though. Jacob is a very real possibility. A very real and very soon possibility. And a very real and very soon possibility that he desperately wants. Everything is so much brighter when Jacob is around. He feels less reckless and prone to poor life decisions. Jacob steadies.

Dog-Botherer on the other hand has a habit of provoking the worst in Downey. But that’s only because he refuses to notice Downey in any real capacity instead spending time with creepy Creevy. Also that rich Ramkin girl. Downey dislikes that. His family might not be as rich as her family, nor as aristocratic, but he still should merit some of DB’s time.

Yet. Yet. The rub is reality and reality is that DB will most likely forever remain in the realms of Never Happening Not Even In Your Dreams. DB is also in the realms of Do You Even Want It To Happen? Is That Something You Actually Want To Deal With? The Lad’s As Emotional As A Dead Fish.

Ugh, he thinks as he flounces back into the couch. Dog-Botherer glances over at the sharp exhalation Downey gave upon hitting the cushion.

This is going to turn into another round of awkward staring like they did in the library the other day. Maybe he should start going home during the breaks. He plays this scenario through then decides against it. Whatever messiness happens at the Guild during break is eons better than going home to family and being dragged off to temple for hours then having big dinners with various and sundry. Unimportant people.

Willis’ suggestion lingers like a bad smell. Try and get to know Dog-Botherer? How does one get to know someone so removed and impersonal? Who has such little warmth? His longing has deep conflict within it - how could someone like him want someone like Dog-Botherer? Yet he does. He also wants Jacob. He wants wanting. He wantonly wants.

Determination takes over. He shall not be daunted by this. Rising from the couch he casually strolls over to the object of his confusion and says, ‘I’ve got some chocolate coins. Want to gamble for them?’

Dog-Botherer looks up from his book. The cover is florid - two women wearing an unseemly amount of red. Dog-Botherer seems confused by this so Downey shows him the bag of gelt that was conveniently on his person.

‘With you?’ DB asks.

‘No, with the King of Lancre.’ Downey internally winces. This isn’t the way to go about things but he is watching himself from outside of his body.

‘I’d rather not.’

And he is very much in the moment now. He nods and says, ‘All right then’ and having nothing further to say wanders from the common room.

 

Once the idea of the game is formed Downey finds himself corralling Willis into playing with him and, to his great joy, Jacob.

Jacob arrives before Willis and Downey immediately regrets his clothing choice because Jacob is casual yet elegant. How can one man manage it so effortlessly? Downey himself wears an itchy jumper his grandma knitted for him several sizes too large at the time so he could grow into it.

Jacob has red hair and freckles and is everything divine. Downey feels so common next to him. Yet when Jacob smiles Downey cannot feel common because nothing is common when Jacob is beside it.

‘Wine?’ He asks as Jacob piles a few pillows on the floor in a circle for the game. ‘I also pilfered Dr. Follett’s brandy if you’re in the mood for that.’

‘A brandy would be nice.’ Jacob settles in on the floor with back leaning into wall. ‘Dr. Follett is going to be after you as soon as he knows you took it.’

‘No fear, I framed Creepy Creevy.’

Jacob rolls his eyes but accepts the brandy without complaint. Downey pours himself one as well and settles down opposite Jacob. The sun is setting so there’s a warm glow on the young man’s face and Downey thinks if he could have a portrait painted it’d be this moment right here.

‘Your holidays treating you well?’ Downey asks. He stretches his feet out. He dares not touch Jacob and Jacob dares not touch him.

‘Oh yes. I came back early as mother was having another one of her spells and I couldn’t be in the house for it. But prior to that I was having a good time. I got you a present.’

‘Oh,’ a blush creeps up Downey’s neck. ‘I didn’t get you anything -’

‘It’s all right, I know Hogswatch isn’t your thing.’

‘I listen for the bells sometimes,’ Downey says. ‘I think they’re nice.’

‘The bells?’

‘The Hogfather’s bells. I’m usually mostly alone at the Guild save for Willis so it’s something to do. We order in Agatean and he cries about his family after we get into the whiskey.’

Jacob is wry, ‘that a yearly tradition?’

‘Yes, bless him.’

Jacob licks his lips and pulls out a small package and hands it over. He is suddenly not looking at Downey but the plants by the window, the book and mug littered desk, the floor. As Downey begins to unwrap it Willis barges in singing a dirty ditty about a sailor.

The present is tucked under the bed. He looks at Jacob who smiles faintly.

‘You could’ve knocked, Willis,’ Downey chides as his friend quickly makes himself at home by stealing Downey’s throw blanket and nesting on the floor with it. ‘Wine or Dr. Follett’s brandy?’

‘Wine.’

Downey pours him a glass and passes it over.

Right as he begins to seat himself there’s a knock on the door. Downey points to it, ‘see Willis, that’s what you could do.’

‘I could,’ Willis agrees happily. To Jacob he says, ‘Will keeps trying to imprint manners on me which I think is a laugh coming from him.’

Jacob to Willis, ‘you have to catch him in the right mood then he’s a perfect gentleman.’

Downey ignores them and opens the door. In the dim of the cool hallway is Dog-Botherer. He’s holding his florid book to his chest and looking confused.

‘What?’ Downey asks.

Dog-Botherer says, ‘I changed my mind.’

Downey breaths in and does not let it out. He races through several alternate scenarios of letting Dog-Botherer join them. The invitation, when he made it, had initially been just for them as per Willis’ direction. But now that Jacob is here he frets. This is the last time he is ever listening to Willis’ advice.

‘I already have people playing,’ he replies lamely.

‘Oh.’

Jacob asks who is at the door. Downey wishes Dog-Botherer didn’t have such a stupid face. If he didn’t have a stupid face Downey wouldn’t be in this position. Willis asks follow up, ‘let them in or out Will but first who is it?’

Downey answers, ‘Dog-botherer.’

Dog-Botherer glares at the name. Rooted to the spot Downey can’t move. Until Jacob says, ‘Let him join us. You haven’t explained the rules yet.’

Downey replies, he isn’t sure what he says. When he looks at Jacob the man is encouraging. Downey knows Jacob thinks he needs to polishing. Jacob had said, ‘I think there’s a good man beneath all of that anger’ and Downey had replied, ‘Aren’t there books on how you’re not supposed to try and change people’ and Jacob, the delight he is, had said, ‘I’m not. I wouldn’t want to. I’m just saying that you’re a bit of an arse but you’re also a good person. You can be both.’

In the present Jacob appears behind Downey and says something which clearly annoys Dog-Botherer who gives a cold non-smile. Downey says something to Jacob. He wants to close the door and return to how things were before this unnecessary complication. Clearly he’s doing fine as Jacob laughs at whatever it is he said and returned to the circle.

Downey mutters, ‘I guess you can join.’

But whatever small desire Dog-Botherer had to join is gone. DB’s face is caught in the light coming from setting sun and lanterns and he, too, looks like a portrait. But a quiet, dark one.

DB says, ‘You clearly have enough players. I won’t get in your way.’

Downey watches him walk back to the common room. It’s an awkward walk as if DB, too, wishes to disappear temporarily into the marble of the Guild. Pushing whatever mad jealousy that rears its head as DB’s back disappears around the corner he spins on his heels with a cheerful smile.

‘All right,’ he grins. ‘Get ready to lose all your chocolate to me.’

They do. Downey preens and spends the rest of the evening eating chocolate in bed and once again pondering that great philosophical question of: Why is life such trouble?


	11. A Marvelous Thing (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless smut. Vetinari’s back from the Tour but has a few more Life Experiences he needs to check off his “to do” list.

He’s brandy and cigarettes tasting - not the best combination for a first whirl around this particular mulberry bush. Vetinari had imagined something grander, which had been a mistake. Downey is not grand like a novel; he is grand like a stage-show. Glamorous smoke and mirrors becoming whatever it is you want him to be. The ideal assassin.

It’s clearly a well rehearsed dance for Downey, the way he kisses Vetinari and backs him up against a wall with hands beneath shirt. Hands against the front of trousers. Hands cupping the back of the head, the edge of a jaw so gentle it’s almost a relief when he goes back to being lewd and rough.

This was supposed to be a strike off the checklist of things one must experience in order to better understand the world. To better understand how people tick. Oh, Vetinari is not here to personally experience _everything_ that could impact a person’s actions - there are some things he’s perfectly content to read about and spend a few hours contemplating what it is to walk a mile in that person’s shoes.

But Downey is convenient. And easy. And clearly familiar with how things are supposed to happen.

Vetinari’s trousers are around his knees and his shirt tails hiked up and waistcoat undone and hat on the floor and gloves next to the hat and his back against the wall. At least they’re in private. At least they’re in Vetinari’s room and not somewhere embarrassing like the library or common area or somewhere filthy like an alleyway, a shadowed temple alcove, a discreet molly house.

Downey is whispering against his ear, kissing his neck open mouthed, hand wrapped around his prick stroking. Downey is saying something like: _you like that eh? You want more yeah? Tell me what you want - I want to hear it._

Typical Downey, wanting something Vetinari is terribly loath to give him. Such as attention. In this case encouragement. Downey doesn’t need encouragement. The man is rubbing himself up Vetinari’s leg. It’s disastrously arousing for such a shameless and simple act.

There had been a plan for this, now that Vetinari is returned from his grand tour and putting his city in order. Or preparing to ascend to the position that would allow him to set his city in order. He has a catalogue of vices and habits that have brought previous patricians low and he will not falter and become beholden to any one person or thing.

Yet, he feels he should have a reasonable collection of Life Experiences before taking on the mantle of power. He has women and Affair with an Older Person checked off in one go, he has Traveled the Disc checked, drunk to the point of blackout checked, done dodgy drugs out the back of the Guild checked - so on and so forth. Being with a man is one of the lingering ones that he felt he needed to address.

So - Downey.

Downey who kneels down with elegance. Downey who is sucking him off. Downey who is big and boyish and terribly uncomplicated. There are fingers stroking the soft skin between thighs, up to the space just behind his balls. Looking down is a mistake - he almost spends then especially when he notices Downey’s free hand is between his own legs, disappeared beneath black fabric of coat and tunic and trousers. What dexterity and keen ability to multitask.

Vetinari snaps head up so he’s looking at the ceiling.

Oh this is a very nice thing, that mouth, that hand, the muffled moans. Vetinari wonders how he missed this, Downey being ah of _that_ inclination, during their guild days. But Downey had been the most laddish of lads. Played on every sports team, drank with the best of them, knew all the strange and ephemeral rituals of boyhood that had escaped Vetinari. Then again, Vetinari acknowledges that hiding in plain sight is often the best way to survive. No one would ever pin Downey for being an invert, a green carnation wearing sort, anything along those lines. Vetinari wouldn’t have either. Until this moment.

There is now a hand on his hip gripping hard while the other wraps around the base of his prick. Vetinari is aware of how close he is. His head drops so he’s again looking down and there is Downey, eyes closed, mouth and hand around his cock looking very serious, if one can look serious in such a situation, and gods. _Gods._

Vetinari’s hands clench the fabric of his coat which is half hanging off his shoulders as he spends himself into Downey’s mouth.  

 

The only sound at first is that of fabric moving. Then it’s breath against Vetinari’s ear, his neck, a kiss on the side of his mouth, on his mouth. His hands go to Downey’s stomach, resting flat against the rich fabric, the outline of a dagger. He is distinctly aware of his state of undress, of Downey’s presence against him. Everything feels very tender and loud, the colours of the room are so terribly bright. Downey is doing up Vetinari’s trousers. When had he pulled them up and tucked in the shirt? Irrelevant, really.

Downey’s black eyes are impossibly dark. His half-smile a sliver of the moon. His look of understanding nothing short of _obnoxious_ though gratifying.

‘See you around,’ Downey murmurs. There’s a last kiss, it’s very deep with hands on either side of Vetinari’s face. ‘Good luck with whatever it is you’re planning.’

‘Luck has nothing to do with it, I assure you.’

Downey shrugs. He picks up his hat, dusts it off and puts it on. Vetinari watches him leave and thinks that the leave taking was as well rehearsed as the beginning had been. What a marvelous thing, he thinks. What a stupid yet marvelous thing is Downey.


End file.
